


Heartbeat

by anomalously



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Engineer Mickey, Explicit Sexual Content, Getting Together, Journalist Ian, M/M, Shameless Big Bang, a whisper of angst, i made myself blush writing this smut wow, its about LOVE, its about the boys getting together and the rest is background tbh!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 19:03:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20493743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalously/pseuds/anomalously
Summary: South Side Native Mends Hearts -the title of the article that Ian Gallagher, probational journalist for Chicago Sun Times, is given the chance to write about Mickey Milkovich, the rags to riches medical engineer. He only got assigned the fluff piece because his brother works with the guy, but Ian’s not one to squander a good opportunity.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This started out a while ago as something I was just messing around with on the side. It’s literally about the boys getting together, plain and simple. I think this is my version of a romcom?
> 
> I cannot thank my beta Erika enough for the patience and feedback and thank you Kerri for the graphic!!!! Loves!

It had to be the work of divine intervention, the moment when Ian had decided to swallow down his morning meds. If he had a second later, the brash Chicago accented holler would have caused him to asphyxiate on his mood stabilizer tablet. And Ian can’t decide if that would have been a poetic death or just bad form on God’s part.

“Beth, where’s Gallagher? _Gallagher!? _”

Ian almost trips as he scrambles towards his boss’s office, managing to not smack into _ Sarah’s _ desk (Beth was the last assistant who didn't make it more than a week and a half). He’s not really sure if Ms. Anders is upset or not, even when she’s happy she still sounds like the person she’s speaking to just spit into her coffee. Gloria Anders has been running the Chicago Sun Times since —if Ian had to guess based on the degree of which the skin of her face was pulled back— the birth of Christ himself. 

“Yes,” Ian reaches Anders’s desk with only minimal panting, straightening his tie. “Yes, ma’am?” 

Anders doesn't even look up from the work spread out on her desk; she slides a file towards Ian’s general direction, “You’ve been pulled. You have a full month to do this since you are a _ child _, be grateful. Be more than grateful, you should be sobbing on your knees right now, as a matter of fact.”

Ian’s eyes widened as he carefully took the file off of Anders’s desk, flipping it open to see a single sheet of paper inside with some vague information about medical shit that was basically all Greek to Ian —the only word he really grabbed onto with certainty was _ pacemaker _. He skimmed while trying his best to contain his excitement though it bubbled at the base of his throat, “Thank you, thank you so much, I won’t disappoint you.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Mr. Gallagher,” Anders glanced up at him, her royal blue glasses perched on the end of her nose. 

Ian nodded, glancing back down at the paper, finally gaining some control over his nerves, the first thing he saw was a list of names. His gut sank. Fuck. “Ms. Anders… can I ask you something?”

Clearly not, but Anders let him anyway with an impatient wave of her manicured hand. 

“Are you giving me this because my brother is—”

“If you want to continue to work as a journalist, you’re going to have to swallow the fact that in this business, we use each other. You should know that by now,” she cut him off. “To answer your question… _ yes _, a major factor in pulling you for this article was because of your connection through your brother. Suck it up.”

Ian nodded, feeling a curl of an old emotion inside his belly. He never had a name for this feeling. The _ of course, you’re kidding yourself if you actually thought you were getting this because you’re good at what you do_. Of course it’s all about Lip. Of course, _ don’t fucking kid yourself_. Of course. Of course. _ Of course_. 

“Gallagher… we have half a dozen probies running around trying to save the fucking world, and crawl directly up my ass while doing so —yourself included.” 

“Yes ma’am, I understand,” Ian swallowed hard, nodding. At the end of the year, four of the six probies will be looking for other opportunities. Ian had no intention of being one of those four. 

“Good, so appreciate the fact that _ you _ were the one pulled for an article like this at all. If and when you join the team and get your big-boy desk, you get _ two _ weeks on something like this not four.”

“Yes ma’am, of course,” Ian tried not to scramble through his words. 

Anders paused, one of her already tautly pulled eyebrows arching. “And you better pray one of those other assholes doesn’t try to screw you over. Because out of all the probies, _ you _ are the one to go after. Please tell Beth that if I don’t have my lunch on my desk by 12:30 _ again _, she’s gone.”

That was the closest Ian was ever going to get to a compliment from her, so he thanked his boss once more and closed the office door on the way out. The bullpen was buzzing like usual. Phones ringing every three seconds, layers of conversations, layers of papers flipping and staplers crunching over and over. He fucking loved it.

He stopped by Sarah’s desk, relaying Anders message before watching her face pale and scramble away, “Shit, I forgot again!”

Ian ignored two of the other probies blatantly staring at him from behind their computers. As soon as he got to his little desk, he flipped the file folder open, absorbing every word he could on his assignment. 

It was something that could’ve been passed over as a fluff piece. Some rags to riches story. Some prick that came from nothing crawling up in the world and was _ actually _ making a difference.

His brother Lip was one of those rags to riches stories, now running _ something _ at this company Medtronic. He designed and built medical shit and told people what to do. Ian didn’t really pay attention that much, in all honesty. He probably should. Whatever. 

But this shit wasn’t about Lip. Someone did a whole article on Lip a few years ago anyway. Fiona still has it framed on the mantel next to Carl’s high school diploma. 

This piece was on someone on Lip’s team, a guy named Milkovich. Mikhailo Milkovich. _ Mikhailo _ . Mik-hail-o, how the fuck… anyway, he specifically worked on _ batteries _ for pacemakers, that’s all the information Ian really had besides innocuous shit on the company. 

Ms. Anders had a lot of responsibilities, but none of those included doing Ian’s research for him.

“What did she give you?”

Ian looked up from his file. He was pretty sure Karen Jackson came out of the womb looking impatient. She could go from giggly blonde to Cuntmaster Flex in the blink of an eye, and honestly all of Ian’s energy was too busy making a mental list of everything he needed to get started on. 

“An assignment,” Ian stated the obvious.

Karen’s shoulders fell, eyes rolling before she walked away. Ian didn’t particularly dislike Karen, they just weren’t _ friends _. Also though, Karen was gunning for one of those two available spots as well —and she wasn’t afraid to play dirty. So. No sharing today.

* * *

Ian knew he looked like the quintessential bright-eyed journalist, with his messenger bag slung over his shoulder and a pen tucked behind his ear. Lip met him in the lobby of the Medtronic facility, grinning as he gave Ian shit. They don’t get to actually see each other that much anymore, but they talk almost every day. Social media is good for something too, so Ian was fully prepared for Lip’s buzzed down hair. If they were about ten years younger, Ian would inform his brother that he looked like a turtle.

He’d tell him later.

“So you’re writing an article on Mickey, huh?” Lip asked after they got Ian’s guest pass.

“Yep,” Ian nodded as he stepped into the elevator. There was a beat of silence, where Ian’s brain both checked out and panicked. Just a second. “Uh, I mean if by _ Mickey _ you’re still talking about this Milkovich guy…you gotta tell me how to say his first name, I can’t figure it out man.”

Lip grinned wide, punching a button, “Yeah, do yourself a favor and just call him Mickey or Mick, don’t even try with that shit. You’ll get it wrong and piss him off, trust me.”

“Got it,” Ian chuckled. 

He’d had his couple nights of pre-interview research on Mickey Milkovich before today, trying to get a clear picture of what he was walking into. And honestly, he was already fascinated. Even though Lip had essentially the same trajectory of South Side born to now working in a state-of-the-art facility engineering _ serious _ medical shit, Mickey’s road read a little more… complicated.

Lip’s whole office —or lab, whatever it’s called— was the opposite of where Ian worked. People walked around quietly, or were hunched over something they were working on. Clean and crisp… _ quiet _. He’d lose his damn mind working here. Though he did notice a couple people with earbuds in.

“So, are you guys chill —is he cool?” Ian asked. 

Lip gave him a crooked smile. “Yeah,” he answered, but his tone was higher than it should’ve been. 

“Great,” Ian sighed, shaking his head. Leave it to Lip to make not-friends with probably the only other fucker from South Side in this building. 

“You want me to introduce you, or you think you can handle it?” Lip teased.

Ian gave his brother a blank look, “I’m not a kid anymore, I can—”

“FUCK!” 

Like a swift nuclear blast, the voice was _ so _ loud when it cut through the silent office. It came and went just like _ that _. No one even lifted their head to see where it had originated, like they didn't even hear it. Ian felt like he was in the Twilight Zone. That just happened, right, he wasn't hearing shit?

Lip chuckled again, head tilting to the side, “Still wanna go in there by yourself?” 

* * *

There weren’t exactly a ton of pictures of Mickey floating around online, he was private as hell and skimped on his social media —skimped is putting it lightly. Ian had managed to find a couple pictures of the guy, but apparently the pictures that had Ian taking a closer look did _ no _ justice to the man before him. 

As soon as Ian walked into Mickey’s office and saw the frustrated brunette glaring at a computer screen, he knew his attention was about to be compromised in a real way. His hair was so damn dark, almost black and his eyes were blue as ever, and the way the computer’s light hit the angles of his face had Ian pausing in the doorway. 

Mickey looked like the kind of guy Ian would be panting after back in the day but wasn’t fucking ballsy enough to even _ plan _ any kind of proposition (the bad boy; the boy with the _ leave me alone _ curl to his mouth; the boy smoking under the bleachers with a glock tucked into his waistband). Ian always lusted over boys like that when he was younger but his time was spent with men who were too old for him, too _ experienced _. 

He didn’t really know back then, about what he was to those men or who those men really were, but he knows now. 

Anyway, that was years ago. And even though you’re probably _ really _ not supposed to sleep with the subject of your article, Ian’s already added Mickey Milkovich to the top of his Christmas list. That’s probably a new record considering they had only occupied the same space for a grand total of five seconds.

Way to keep it professional right off the bat. 

“Can I help you?” Mickey’s words were polite, but his tone was layered with _ I don’t have time for whatever the fuck you’re about to say, so make it quick_. 

Fuck. Oh yeah, his job. 

“Ian Gallagher,” Ian cleared his throat. “From the Chicago Sun Times… uh Lip’s brother. We spoke on the phone the other day —it’s nice to meet you.” 

Ian called Mickey’s office phone, the only number he was given. It was a short, clipped conversation to set a time to meet, before Mickey had hung up. 

Mickey’s office was small, there wasn’t even a window, just a huge poster of a ridiculous sunset behind a white sandy beach that was _ loudly _ out of place. Papers were tacked to the wall around the poster with charts and numbers and a bunch of other shit that Ian wasn’t even going to try to pretend to understand. This was the office of a busy person doing important things, and suddenly Ian felt like an ass for intruding on his time.

Something shifted slightly in Mickey’s demeanor and face, his brows lifting. His blue eyes _ definitely _ gave Ian a once over while he leaned back in his desk chair. “Right.”

Ian shifted on his feet, feeling the tension in the room starting to sink into his shoulders. This guy did not want to do this. At all. “If this is a bad time, I can come back…”

Mickey shook his head, motioning to the chair in front of his desk, “No, sit. Let’s play exploit the poor.”

Jesus, _ fuck _. Ian felt the entirety of his blood drain from his face, “I uh… that’s not…” 

“M’fucking with you,” Mickey cracked a grin. His whole face changed when he grinned, and Ian almost forgot what he was doing here in the first place… again. “At least this gets the word out about our shit, right?”

Ian cleared his throat, digging into his messenger bag, “Uh… yeah.” 

There was a beat of silence between them, where Ian had his arm halfway shoved into his messenger bag silently hoping said bag would finish the job and take the rest of him. Lip should’ve introduced them instead of Ian coming in here by himself, now it was just weird. Ian had a stupid instant crush on a guy who definitely wasn’t completely chill with him being in his office, doing this story, invading his life. This was the part of journalism that Ian hated —arguably one of the most important parts to have, the _ I don’t give a fuck about your privacy _ gene. 

It was hard for Ian to not care about other people’s privacy when he grew up how he did. 

The other man must have felt his tension, Ian thought, watching the brunette lean forward over his desk with his hand out, his beautiful face softening just enough. “Nice to meet you, Ian.”

Ian exhaled, taking the warm hand offered, squeezing, “You too.”

“Yeah, you said.”

Ian grinned, releasing Mickey’s hand, “You gonna give me shit this whole time?” Whatever just happened did the trick, and he was starting to feel his shoulders relax. 

“Depends. Now, I got somewhere to be at 3:00, so ask away.”

* * *

Ian pursed his lips, pen tapping on the edge of his notebook as he looked across the desk at Mickey. They had been talking for little more than half an hour, Ian taking in every detail he could about Mickey, jotting down little notes about the other man, and this motherfucker was _ lying _.

There wasn’t a lot he could find about Mickey while he was doing his research before coming here —well, about his personal life and his upbringing. Some puzzle pieces were easy enough to put together, but Ian chalked a good deal of that to it being fucking South Side, shit isn’t as simple as _ this _ or _ that _, sometimes you have to do things other people normally wouldn’t to get by. 

Mickey had sealed records (juvie). He also had a couple _ unsealed _ records —an incident when Mickey was twenty-one —public intoxication and resisting arrest. They threw Mickey in the can for ninety days and slapped him with a lovely fine. He was grinning like a shithead in his mugshot, and Ian wanted to punch himself for being charmed by it. And then there was the fact that his father was a career criminal (now dead), and one of his brothers was currently wanted for a myriad of charges that all pointed to _ thief _ and _ drug dealer _. 

But there were so many blank spots in his life, and Mickey wasn’t exactly blogging about his emotional turmoil and childhood trauma, at least not that Ian could find. He suspects that Mickey’s not the blogging type though, he doesn’t even bother to compose a tweet more than twice a month. 

He hadn’t wanted to use that shit he found when he looked Mickey up. He wanted _ Mickey _ to be the one to tell him. Ian knew it would settle better in his stomach at night.

But Mickey wasn’t giving him any of that. Mickey was giving him _ bullshit _.

“So it sounds like you had a normal childhood… in South Side,” Ian cleared his throat. 

Mickey sniffed, “Sorry I don’t have some sob story, man.”

Ian didn’t know if he should call the brunette out or not, he didn’t know what kind of reaction he’d get if he did. But the dude had FUCK U-UP tattooed across his knuckles, if he couldn’t handle a few tough questions then he needed to reassess the vibe he was putting out there. 

This man was _ complicated _ . And on top of Ian’s dumb crush and frustration about multiple things… there were subtle things about Mickey that were setting off special little alarms in Ian’s brain, things he learned to pick up on in South Side. Maybe things that Mickey learned to pick up on too. Plus, Ian _ knows _ when he’s being checked out… and he’s been checked out by the brunette approximately twenty-eight times (fuck you, it’s a _ mild _ exaggeration). 

Point blank, Ian had an overactive imagination, and wanted to do terrible _ filthy _ things to this man. Sure, it could have something to do with the fact that he’s been putting all of his time and energy into work, and it’s been three months since he’s even held a goddamn _ hand _, but also...did it? Mickey was hot. Of course Ian noticed. 

Regardless, still he felt relatively confident in saying there were a grand total of _ zero _ heterosexual persons in that room. 

What that really has to do with anything, he wasn’t sure. (Nothing, it had absolutely nothing to do with anything Ian was here for, but the little fact that that whole public intoxication/resisting arrest situation was an incident that happened after midnight in _ Boystown _ was pretty much the pretty bow on top of Ian’s _ fuck you, I’m right_).

The _ larger _ point here is Mickey was feeding him a lot of garbage about his life. 

“I don’t buy this shit, Mick.”

It was obvious that Mickey had not been expecting anything remotely like that to come out of Ian’s mouth. His face hardened, a twist of confusion in his eyes. “The fuck you mean you don’t _ buy _ this shit? What’s not to buy, it’s my fucking _ life _.”

Ian rolled his eyes before he leaned forward in his chair to address Mickey, “People who had normal childhoods don’t have _ fuck _ tattooed across their knuckles.” Then he paused, probably pushing way too far, “That, and the South Side doesn’t hand over normal childhoods to boys who like other boys.”

It got real quiet in that small office. The cliche phrase of “the tension was palpable” was a gross understatement. Mickey’s face was hiding anything he might have been thinking or feeling. Ian sat still, eyes kept trained on the man across from him, knowing he was so goddamn out of line. 

Wow, that was so inappropriate. 

Wow, that could potentially ruin his whole career that hadn’t even started yet. 

Good job, Gallagher. 

He couldn’t help but notice that Mickey’s silence was _ possibly _ a loud enough answer to that theory though and the fact that Ian hadn’t been kicked out or hit was blowing his mind, and _ possibly _ told him even more.

“Why do gay guys always think everyone else is gay?” Mickey cleared his throat. 

“Are you?”

“Are _ you_?” Mickey turned the question back on him.

“Yes,” Ian answered. He’s honest about it all the time now, he doesn’t have to hide it anymore. “You don’t have to answer that, I just… I don’t understand the rest of it. If you don’t want to talk about the nitty gritty shit, we don’t have to, that’s your business. But I need _ something _ to go on other than some bullshit about how you grew up in fucking Back of the Yards with half a baseball team of siblings and a single father, and yet… _ normal _?”

Mickey shifted in his seat, still not asking Ian to leave. “What the fuck does it even matter? No one wants to hear about my dumb shit. Just write about the fucking battery.”

Ian took a breath, running a hand over his hair, “Because it’s not a story about the _ battery _ . It matters because it’s my name on this too, and if you’re lying, I look like a fucking idiot —and _ you _ look like an asshole, so why even lie? What, are you worried about records? I have one too, and Lip. Who cares?”

The brunette sighed heavily, rubbing his fingers over his full lips. “This was a bad idea.”

Shit. He pulled his _Designated_ _Ian Gallagher Bleeding Heart_ off of his sleeve to speak from, he couldn’t help himself. “Listen. Maybe some kid in South Side will read this and see that it’s not impossible like everyone always says it is. I fucking hope someone writes one of these rags to riches bullshit stories on me one day, because that means I’m actually doing something with my life. _You_ didn’t accept what was given to you, _that’s_ the shit that matters. That’s why this matters.”

Ian wished he could read Mickey’s mind, but the brunette still wasn’t giving him anything. Still wasn’t kicking him out, either. 

“Tell me something,” Ian softly challenged. Anything. Anything real.

Mickey brushed his nose with his thumb, back straightening. “Fine, Gallagher. You wanna talk about South Side, ask me why I build batteries for pacemakers again and I’ll tell you exactly why.”

“Why do you build batteries for pacemakers?”

Mickey nodded to himself, his blue eyes closing briefly as he took a breath, “Because my dad had a pacemaker, and the battery failed, that part’s true.” This was the exact same answer Ian got before. “But when I was seventeen, something happened… and in the middle of my dad beating the fucking _ dogshit _ out of me, he had a heart-attack, and that’s when the battery failed.”

Ian felt like he was going to be sick, he was so ashamed of himself. “Mickey, I’m—”

“Sorry? Don’t be,” Mickey huffed a dry laugh, head shaking. “He was a bastard. Fucking hated him.”

“Well, I’m sorry I made you tell me that,” Ian said.

Mickey shrugged, and Ian noticed (for probably the tenth time now) Mickey’s hand reach for a cigarette pack on his desk before he pulled back. “People don’t make me do shit,” he gave a small quirk of a grin.

He had to ask. If he didn’t ask he’d be failing at his job. “Why do you do what you do if you hated him?”

Mickey shrugged, mouth fidgeting in thought. “He was my dad. The battery died when it shouldn’t have… so did he.”

“You feel guilt.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Mickey breathed a humorless laugh, a smile that didn’t reach his beautiful eyes. Beautiful eyes that rolled right after he said it, rolling at himself if Ian had to guess. 

“I think it would depend on what happened before he started beating me,” Ian answered honestly. 

Another empty laugh, brows stretching up as he croaked out, “Yeah, well…”

Damnit. Okay. “What happened before he started beating you?”

Mickey shook his head. It was all in his eyes: _ easy _. 

“Okay,” Ian backed off; in the grand scheme of things would that be a juicy tidbit in Mickey’s article? Obviously, but the weight of _ whatever _ this was felt heavy in the room, heavy enough to know when South Side loyalty mattered more than an article. “You wanna take a break?” he asked instead, pointing to the pack of cigarettes.

The other man exhaled; he nodded, getting up from his chair as his tattooed fingers snatched the pack. “Yeah… you smoke?”

Ian nodded, standing along with him. “Yeah, I could use a break too actually.”

* * *

It’s been more than half a decade since Ian put his hands on his brother in unbridled rage, but today might fucking change that. He couldn’t stop glaring if he tried. Lip followed them out to the “designated smoking area”, which was really just the third floor roof. 

He had _ planned _ on taking this time to get the brunette more comfortable with him, and that plan _ never _ included standing off to the side while Lip and Mickey have a contest to see who could configure the more complicated sentence before their cigarette ran out. Though it did give him a moment to watch Mickey, to hear him speak about his work without having to pause every other sentence to explain. 

He took mental notes. Mickey knew whatever he was talking about backwards and forwards, it was just evident in how _ casual _ he said shit. He was fucking _ smart _ —had to be, otherwise he wouldn’t be doing what he does obviously, but still. 

“I know what you’re saying, but seriously if you can get this fucking wireless—“

“Ay, ay, ay!” Mickey waved a hand in front of Lip, shutting him up. “Fucking reporter a foot away from you, numb-nuts.”

Both Ian and Lip pointed out the familial relationship between the two of them. 

But Mickey shook his head at Lip, “I don’t give a fuck if he _ birthed _ you, he’s a reporter. Shut the fuck up about my shit.”

“Oh fuck off, this is all of ours,” Lip pulled a face.

Mickey cut him off before he could go on, “Yeah, but you know what I mean, this shit is _ mine _.” 

Ian was well acquainted with the look on Lip’s face when he was forcing himself to do the right thing. Like it physically _ pained _ him to put his ego aside and take another human beings’ feelings into consideration. 

Lip took a long drag from his cigarette, then he _ nodded _ which Ian was not expecting at all, he was expecting a _ fuck you _ before the agreement - at least. 

Ian hit the last of his cigarette, figuring where was the harm at this point. He was a journalist, he was supposed to act like one, right? He shrugged, stubbing the cigarette out on a wall, “I can keep a secret.”

“Like fuck you can, Dick Tracy.”

“Dick Tracy was a detective,” Lip reminded Mickey. 

Ian grinned as he watched the brunette give Lip the middle finger, “I know what the fuck he was, _ Phillip _.”

Lip rolled his eyes, heading back inside, “Okay, _ Mikhailo _.” He shut the roof door right before Mickey’s lit cigarette connected with it. 

Maybe they were actually friends-ish, because what had been a tense moment was smoothed out in a matter of seconds. Maybe. 

“Fucker,” Mickey sucked on his teeth, then asked Ian, “How the hell’d you grow up with that shithead without killing him?”

Ian chuckled, “Believe me, I tried. Dude’s a cockroach.”

Silence settled between them after Mickey’s breathy laugh faded. They were alone again, and Ian couldn’t help but notice how good Mickey looked out in the sunlight and wind. He had such a nice face. Nice lips —his smile was killer. Jesus Christ, and that ass. 

Oh man. Oh no. Yeah… he definitely wanted to do terrible things to Mickey Milkovich.

Fuck. 

“You gonna finish that up or are you gonna let it turn to an ash stick?”

Ian cleared his throat, bringing himself out of his crush-spiral. He tapped off the large chunk of ash at the end of his cigarette, “So, you seeing anyone?”

_ Whatthefuck? _ Ian shut his eyes, praying for the lightning strike. 

“Excuse me?” Mickey’s brows arched high. Despite that though, he was lighting up another cigarette. 

Ian scrambled over his words, “I-uh, I mean…” he racked his brain as quick as he could. “Seems like Lip practically lives here. Just wondering if it’s hard to, you know, have a relationship with that kind of work schedule.”

Mickey narrowed his eyes. 

“For the article,” Ian added. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Mickey sucked on his cigarette. He didn’t answer though. Ian seriously wanted to melt into the floor. Then after another beat of silence, he said, “This whole thing feels really one-sided.”

Ian frowned, “What do you mean?”

The brunette (tragically) took a step away from Ian, taking his place more in the shade. Like a _ real cool guy _, all leaned back against the wall. Again, Ian was feeling that internal yell of wanting to punch himself for being so goddamn charmed, yet again.

“I mean, I don’t know fuckall about you other than you’re Lip’s brother.” They both knew he knew that_ other thing _ about Ian, but neither one of them pointed it out.

“What do you want to know?” Ian asked him.

Mickey shrugged, “Why do you do what you do?”

“I love to write,” he answered. “And I like people. I’m pretty good with people.”

“Yeah?” It was a playful challenge.

“Normally,” Ian laughed, feeling his cheeks flush. 

“Did you always wanna do this?”

“Journalism?”

“Yeah,” Mickey smirked. “You stay up at night as a kid dreaming of getting in peoples’ business?”

Mickey was grinning all wide and shitty at him, and Ian fucking loved that, grinning right back at him. He should’ve come back to visit Lip’s office ages ago. The brunette seemed to relax against the wall behind him, taking another drag from his cigarette, that was more than halfway gone by now. 

“Nah, I’ve always loved to write but never thought of this ‘til later,” Ian almost thought to light up another, but he wasn’t sure if Mickey would wait for him to finish it, so he didn’t want to chance it.

“What’d you write?”

Ian went warm, shrugging in odd embarrassment, “Just stories.”

He never talks about this shit. He never talks about his collection of notebooks with this and that scribbled all over them. Outlines, scenes, characters… all that shit Ian used to daydream about and jot down when the moment struck. It’s been some time now but every once in a while he’ll get hit with something and grab for one of those notebooks to scribble some more.

“Stories about…”

Ian breathed a laugh, not knowing how to answer. Mickey grinned.

“You’re gonna have to give me something better than that, you know,” Mickey said after a beat of comfortable silence. Ian swallowed hard, watching the other man’s full lips wrap around the cigarette again, watched the way blue eyes were peering over at him carefully. “M’telling you some heavy shit.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno,” Mickey shrugged before he echoed Ian’s words from before. ”Tell me something.”

Ian took a deep breath, moving to stand more in the shade next to Mickey, keeping some space between them. He felt like he was standing on a pile of junk —all the junk from his life, all the bad shit, all the fucked up shit. What to choose, what to choose… 

“Uh… I’m bipolar,” he ended up saying.

Which wasn’t exactly his usual go-to when it came to sharing personal details with people who are near-strangers. Kind of fit the criteria of what Ian was asking of Mickey though: heavy, personal. He thought it might be kind of useless to talk about his childhood, Mickey knew the drill in South Side and Ian could picture his brother and Mickey having some kind of South Side cred battle, seeing who had the best stories.

But _ honestly _ , as heavy and personal as it is, and as many deeply conflicting feelings he’s had towards his illness, Ian’s finding himself more or less shrugging at its existence more often as he gets older. _ It is what it is. _It’s not like he signed up for this shit. 

All he can do is make an effort for himself. Nothing changes if nothing changes, and he made a promise to himself and his family to make that effort. Even if shit goes a little south and he has to mentally scream at himself for a while to get the fuck out of bed, even if he has to be an asshole to himself to give a shit.

The therapy helped, too. Like, a _ lot _.

“A’ight,” Mickey nodded, brows raising. “How’s that going?”

He was already in it. Whatever, it honestly only seemed fair with how far Ian’s dug into this guys personal life. He gave a shrug, “I got a helluva lot more good days than bad right now, so I can’t complain. It used to be a lot worse, before I got my shit together.” 

Smoke billowing from his nose like a goddamn dragon, Mickey made an affirmative hum.

“Will that do?” Ian grinned in an effort to lighten the situation a little. 

The brunette gave Ian a soft grin in return, nodding as he stubbed his cigarette out. “Yeah, man.”

* * *

The top five pages in his notepad were crammed with notes. Mickey had given Ian a vague-but-enough-detail retelling of his childhood. How he used to get in trouble with the law and with school, how he and his siblings pretty much raised themselves, running around South Side like a pack of rabid strays. A lot sounded all-too-familiar.

Mickey told Ian about his juvenile rap sheet —about the pick-pocketing and shoplifting, about the possession and intent to sell charges, and some mild destruction of property. The brunette had, for the most part, gotten his act together once he hit that age when all your bad behavior starts _ really _ biting you in the ass.

When his dad, Terry, came back up, Mickey was careful but honest. Mickey was raised by and around criminals, was taught how to be a man, and with that was raised with toxic expectations. He told Ian, briefly, about Terry’s temper —that “_ he was a fucking miserable old piece of shit Neo-Nazi _” and Mickey had never heard the man say I love you to anyone, including his children. 

Listen, Frank Gallagher was narcissistic and an absurdly selfish piece of shit, but compared to Terry, he was the better option to be “raised” by. The worst part was that Ian could tell Mickey was holding back a lot more. 

Ian had asked him about his ninety day stint —about what happened there. Mickey just grinned, telling him that had been a hell of a night. He didn’t divulge anymore information though, even after Ian said _ please_.

Ian would have to do a more invasive dive into Mickey. A little grin cracked over his face when that thought took a turn to poundtown. He really needed to get laid.

* * *

Ian is a little ridiculous sometimes, he will admit to this. But there is something about the _ immediacy _ of a typewriter that he needs while writing so he can rip the page out of the machine and tack it to the cork board for later. He needs to be able to go over to that board and look at all the papers tacked up, touch them, move them, write on them. 

(There was this one time when his little sister Debbie popped over to Ian’s place while he was in the middle of work, and he had to patiently explain to her that no, he was not “having an episode”, he was just working —though in hindsight he absolutely understood the confusion)

Each bit of information got it’s own piece of paper. In the end, he wouldn’t use half of this shit, he knew. This article would get put through edit after edit, the fat trimmed off until it was perfect for publication —and that would be _ before _ Ms. Anders even got her hands on it. 

He worked every second of the four weeks he had. He revised his introduction no less than seven times and rearranged the entire structure at least four times. It was like he never stopped working on Mickey’s article during those four weeks. Even when Karen came over to his little desk, poking her nose where it didn’t belong and teasing him that he was going to end up overworking it.

Maybe he was, or maybe _ not _, but Karen just needed to mind her own fucking business.

However, around the turn of the third week, Ian decided he wanted to meet with Mickey again, but this time to just observe him working. Just meeting him that one day and doing all this research on his own only got him so far in getting to know Mickey when it came to his actual work, the _ reason _ this article put him in the spotlight. 

He wanted to see Mickey in his element, humanize the whole medical engineering side a little bit. The phone conversation again was brief.

“And how long are you wanting to do this?”

“Just two days is fine.”

“Why?”

“I wanna watch you.” (Ian had slapped his hand across his forehead at that, praying for the rapture.)

A pause. A soft snort of a laugh. “A’ight.”

So Ian was permitted back into the lab, with his little guest pass and notepad ready to write down whatever he needed. It was still quiet as hell, people milling around, not paying him any mind at all. Ian had the urge to go ask a few questions, to go peek over shoulders and see what they were working on, but he had a feeling it would be wildly inappropriate.

The first day Ian shadowed Mickey, the brunette was a little on the tense side, understably. Here this dude was coming into his workspace, who knew way more about him than he should, and was now just fucking…watching him. Yeah, it’s weird. But Ian sat as quiet as he could watching Mickey work. He ended up loving watching him look over papers and write shit out. His tattooed fingers clicked away at his keyboard and his full lips dropped the word _ fuck _ out of the blue here and there. Ian liked that a lot...and it was a problem.

Mickey had kept stealing glances at Ian that first day, like he was trying to figure out what the fuck Ian was doing. Honestly, Ian kind of loved that every once in a while he’d look up from his notepad and blue eyes would be staring over at him, then flicking away quickly as not to get caught watching. It didn’t happen a lot, but enough to make Ian suppress a grin every time. Mickey was cute.

The second day, Mickey was a lot more relaxed. They took a couple smoke breaks together, but Ian decided to back off a little with the following around and all that shit, and took advantage of the time to go talk to Lip a little bit too.

After their little game of catch-up on each others’ lives, Ian, predictably as ever, couldn’t help himself from sitting in the chair across from his brother’s desk and asking, “So… what’s his deal?”

Lip frowned, “Huh?”

“Mickey,” Ian clarified, keeping his voice down. “What’s his deal -what’s he into?”

It took Lip about three seconds of quiet confusion before he caught on, eyes rolling as his face twisted in exhaustion; he made a gross noise in the back of his throat, “_ Jesus _, Ian. I work with the guy, I don’t need you trying to get in his fucking pants, dude.”

Against all better judgement, Ian sniffed, “So… does that mean that if I took a shot, he would be into it?”

His brother gave him a blank look, simply saying, “Danny.”

Danny. That had been a hurricane, _ Ian’s _ hurricane, to be honest. Danny was a little naive for someone as smart as he was. Maybe it was a huge cliche —born and raised small town boy ends up in Chicago of all places after living his entire life in the closet. Ian got to play the part of the corrupting big city boy. Reckless partying, noncommittal and volatile. 

But then Danny caught _ actual _ feelings, feelings that Ian couldn’t reciprocate. Not just because of the mania, it wasn’t the _ mania’s _ fault. Danny fell while Ian was still flying high in the clouds. It ended messy, Lip getting caught in the fallout because at that time Danny and Lip were working together. It didn’t help that Danny wasn’t all that experienced when it came to men, especially men like Ian used to be. It was hard for him to leave his personal life at home, even harder that he worked with Lip. 

Shortly after everything fell apart for good, Danny ended up taking a job in New York. Ian’s wanted to reach out to apologize for how everything went down, but the more time that passes the more it seems like he should just let it be. 

“That’s not fair. That wasn’t... ” Ian said, heat crawling up the back of his neck. “You _ know _ I’m better now.”

Lip nodded, sighing, “I know.”

That just took the wind out of Ian’s sails. He slumped back in his chair, keeping his eyes on Lip, “Besides, Mickey’s not like Danny, he’s…”

“A bastard,” Lip supplied with a grin. 

Ian snorted a laugh despite himself, “That’s _ not _ what I was going to say.”

* * *

“South Side Native Mends Hearts… by Ian Clayton Gallagher.”

The whole Gallagher house exploded in a drunken chorus of congratulatory yells and whistles.

Fiona threw a whole entire _ party _ for Ian. She invited over Kev and Vee, and every single person they loved to come celebrate Ian’s first physical publication in the Chicago Sun Times, he’d been doing all online shit up until this point. 

They even made him stand in the middle of the living room and read the entire article from start to finish, toasting each other after every paragraph. It was A LOT, and mostly because everyone was pretty drunk.

“I remember that kid,” Kev said at some point after Ian had finished reading the article. “He was a little fucking psycho.”

Vee reached over and hit him in the arm for that one. “_Kevin_.”

“He was!” Kev defended, rather drunkenly. Even Ian laughed at that. “I mean, can’t blame the guy, look at his fucking dad. But yeah, he was a little _ bastard _ —him and his brothers.”

“He’s still a bastard,” Lip said. Before Ian could open his mouth, his brother surprised him. “He’s a good guy though. He’s cool.”

* * *

A week after the article was published, Ian woke up to his phone chirping; he had a text.

** _Hey thanks for not blowing up my whole life in the article._ **

Putting two and two together, Ian quickly sorted out that Mickey went and got his number from Lip. It wasn’t a hard jump, it wasn’t like Ian had a whole lineup of articles he’d written about people. Ian’s whole body flushed to the point where he was _ real _ goddamn grateful that he was alone. He got himself together enough so he could reply. ** _Did you like it? Was it okay? _ **

He wanted to overexplain, to defend himself before he needed to, purely out of nerves. He wanted to tell Mickey about how he tried to be respectful, and how he tried to be as detailed and vague as possible, how he hoped he didn’t offend him. He wanted to ask Mickey what he thought about the third paragraph, about the ending… but he didn’t write any of that now in an effort to be _ real casual _.

** _Yeah. It was good._ **

Ian swallowed hard, staring down at his phone. It seemed like he was sitting there forever, trying to put together another response that sounded _ real casual _ , before he shook his head and leaned back against his pillows. _ Ian _ didn’t work with the guy, this didn’t have to be awkward for _ him _. Lip probably wouldn’t appreciate it if this turned sour, but… fuck it. 

Two minutes had already passed.

** _What are you doing this weekend?_ ** Ian asked with nominal violent heart palpitations.

There were a few minutes between when Ian sent his text and when he received Mickey’s reply. A reply that made his casual slouch against his pillows turn rigid. ** _What you got in mind, Red?_ **

Somehow, and Ian had no fucking clue how, but somehow he knew _ exactly _ what that would sound like coming out of the other man’s mouth, and he knew _ exactly _ how those baby blues would look him up and down, Mickey’s full mouth pulling at the corner in a smirk.

Ian didn’t know what he was expecting before that little line came through, but whatever it was wasn’t that. What the fuck was he supposed to say to that, other than describing every single dirty thought that crossed his mind, in graphic detail? 

“Called it,” Ian whispered, unable to not smile.

So was this Mickey’s version of answering the question that had been digging greedily into Ian’s brain since day one? Wow. Fine. Mickey wanted to play? They’d play. ** _Depends on what you’re into. _ ** Mickey could take that however he was going to.

Mickey wrote back. ** _You wanna get a drink?_ **

Ian sighed down at his phone. Not to put a damper on the conversation but Ian’s been doing too good for the first time in a long time (despite job-related-stress that came with the competitive world of journalism) to be fucking it up for ass, no matter how nice of an ass it was. 

** _Not unless you want to pour me into the back of an Uber after one beer. Meds. _ **

He’d gotten into a habit of this with Mickey, just being _ honest _ about shit. It started after that first time they took a smoke break together. Mickey didn’t drill Ian with question after question, but when he did ask something, Ian didn’t even think about editing his answer before it came out of his mouth.

A few moments passed with Ian staring down at his phone before Mickey answered again. ** _Straight to it then that’s fine. _ ** Ian’s cautious smile turned into a burst of a victory cry when a second text came through. ** _You wanna fuck?_ **

His mind was going a million miles an hour thinking of every way he wanted the brunette. Ian wondered if Mickey was as mouthy in bed as he was out of it. He’d been wondering that. Actually, he’d been wondering about a lot of things. 

Ian picked his phone back up and cleared his throat right after his hand snaked its way into his pajama pants to adjust his semi like a goddamn teenager. 

Before he texted back, he took a second to bask in this, however. He’d been making some bold assumptions about Mickey this whole time —bold but honestly justified, especially now. God, the fucking _ validation _.

** _Tell me when and where._ ** A little less _ real casual _ than Ian wanted, but it was too late, he hit send already.


	2. Two

_ When _ : Saturday.  _ Where _ : Mickey’s place.

Waiting for Saturday was the longest two days of Ian’s life.

Ian was fucking  _ ready _ . He scrubbed from top to bottom and everywhere in between, he bought a new shirt, and he spent twenty minutes manipulating his hair to lay just right.  _ Real casual _ . He’d always gotten the butterflies when meeting up with a new guy, but this was a whole months worth of build-up and fantasy in Ian’s mind. 

One time Ian watched Mickey slide the end of a pen into his mouth and he had to leave the room, for fuck sake. This guy was  _ more _ than doing it for Ian, and had been since the jump.

This wasn’t some dude he met on an app for a quick bj and a thank you. This was very fucking different. They were going into this already knowing a great deal about each other. Personal things. They had developed a decent connection already, over a fairly short period of time. 

This would do one of two things: bring them even closer or destroy everything. No pressure. 

Mickey lived in a decent building. Not too showy, a few blocks down from Lip actually, whose building was definitely more on the showy side. There wasn’t a doorman like Lip’s, but there was a box with a buzzer. Ian found his name easily, punched the button he was supposed to, and tried not to vomit all over himself in the process.  _ Real casual _ .

It was late, of course. Because even though Ian knew more about Mickey than the average person, it still was what it was at its core: a hookup. But honestly, he didn’t even care if Mickey preferred topping at this point ( _ quite _ surprising for Ian). 

That might’ve been something to find out. Either way, he was good to go.

The brunette looked perfectly comfortable when he opened the door to his apartment. Ian didn’t even look around at the place, not really giving a fuck, not really able to look anywhere else besides the man in front of him. The tank undershirt he wore was so hot, wrapped around his chest and down his torso, begging to be peeled off, his loose dark navy sweatpants doing the Lord's work over those legs and… 

“No notepad. Good,” Mickey broke the silence with a smirk.

Ian exhaled, watching the brunette close and lock the door. Yep,  _ and _ that ass. Ian’s little “goldstar” voice excitedly whispered in the back of his mind that tops don’t have asses like that. Goldstar isn’t always reliable though —and honestly is also kind of a dick. No pun intended.

“Don’t need it when I know what I’m doing.” Thank god it didn’t come out as corny as it could have. Because  _ that _ could have ended his night right then and there.

Mickey chuckled, head cocked as he closed the space between them. The guy was crazy confident right now, it was  _ really _ turning Ian on. “Oh yeah?”

Ian nodded, feeding off of Mickey’s vibes. He was so fucking into this. Mickey was gorgeous from day one, fucking beautiful. But right now he was the hottest thing Ian had ever seen in his goddamn life. He leaned back against the wall behind him.  They hadn’t even made it fully into Mikey’s apartment yet, stuck in the small hallway limbo between the front door and the living room.

Blue eyes slowly dropped down. Mickey was barely a foot away, Ian could feel the heat from his body. The way Mickey looked at him —like he knew  _ exactly _ what he wanted and wasn’t ashamed about it— revved him up fast and hard. 

With a short nod of his head, Mickey glanced down again, then back up at Ian’s face, “Let’s see what you got.”

“Right to it then,” Ian breathed a laugh, watching Mickey’s blatant continuation of dragging his eyes all over him, like he was a human scanner.

“Mmhm,” Mickey hummed, eyebrows arching expectantly.

Again charmed, Ian let his hands drop to the button of his jeans, slowly undoing them. There was a lot that Ian was insecure about… his dick was not one of them. If Mickey wanted to play this game, Ian was more than able to play along.

Before Ian pushed his jeans down, he took Mickey’s wrist —finally fucking touching him. He was so warm. Fuck, he was so warm. The brunette looked at him with question, a little grin playing at his lips. Ian slowly took Mickey’s hand, pressing it to the front of his jeans so Mickey could feel how hard he was through the material.

Both of them sighed, Ian’s eyes fluttered when Mickey slid his hand up and down, feeling his length through his jeans. “So far, so good,” Mickey murmured.

“You take it?” Ian asked, hope resting in the back of his throat. 

A pause. Mickey peeking up at him quickly, “If I like what I see.”

“Then take it out,” Ian whispered. His knees threatened to sag, but he kept upright using the power of pure horny stubbornness. Wow, it was a good thing he tugged it real quick before coming over here, otherwise there would’ve been a problem.

Mickey breathed a laugh, hands pushing at Ian’s jeans, pushing them down while he stepped even closer, their chests barely brushing each other. “Take your shirt off,” Mickey said quietly. “Wanna see you.”

Ian pulled his shirt off faster than ever, throwing it on the floor next to them at the same time that Mickey had his jeans halfway down his thighs and his tattooed fingers cupping Ian’s balls before dragging those fingers slowly up his length.

“Damn,” Mickey wet his lips, his eyes bouncing between looking down at Ian’s dick, to looking at Ian’s chest. His free hand slid up and down Ian’s sternum, feeling him, and Ian could have purred. He looked down at himself with Mickey, eyes threatening to close from how good it felt just to be touched. The sight of Mickey’s hand wrapped around him was almost too much.

Ian’s got a nice dick, he knows this. It’s big, aesthetically pleasing, and it’s hard as fuck. It’s a Good Dick. He’s a Good Fuck. “Like that?” Ian asked though a shudder. 

Before Mickey answered, Ian went for it and grabbed him by the back of the neck, pulling him close, pressing their lips together in a kiss.

Mickey moaned against his mouth as he melted. His lips were even softer than they looked, soft and pliant as they moved against Ian’s. Mickey ran his thumb over the tip of Ian’s cock, making him gasp. The brunette teased into Ian’s mouth with his tongue when that happened, like it was all part of the plan. Ian groaned at that, diving deeper into the kiss.

Somehow he got Mickey’s shirt off, even though the way it looked on the brunette drove him fucking wild. Ian didn’t even know where they were in the brunette’s apartment as they blindly moved, he just had his hands searching everywhere, his mouth heavy and open as it dragged down Mickey’s neck. 

He’s being pushed down onto a bed. It’s soft but not overly so. Mickey’s shirtless, hard under his sweatpants and looking down at Ian like he was made of something Mickey was helplessly addicted to. Chest rising and falling deep, mouth glowing and slack.

Maybe he’s full of himself, but Ian gets so fucking turned on when someone is turned on by him. 

The moment lasted for only a couple seconds before Ian was melting into the mattress because Mickey climbed up on the bed and started mouthing at the base of his cock. Ian’s hands sunk into dark hair, pulling lightly while he felt Mickey’s hot wet mouth travel up his shaft, and even hotter and wetter tongue sliding out to taste him.

He made a noise that sounded like it could’ve been a word. Ian’s eyes rolled, closed, clenched tightly. Mickey was working his gorgeous mouth over the head of Ian’s cock, a soft sucking and even softer hum pulling him in deeper while he went back to Ian’s balls with one hand. Tender, almost.  _ Savoring _ .

Ian took deep breaths, calming himself through Mickey pulling him into his mouth fully. It was all warm and wet and tight, slowly engulfing him. Ian’s hands fell from Mickey’s dark hair so he could prop himself up on his elbows to watch the brunette slide his tongue up and down his cock before it disappeared back into Mickey’s mouth again.

Like he was fucking hungry for it.

“Holy shit,” he breathed rough, his legs widening. Ian watched Mickey sink as far as he could, taking him into his mouth, down his throat. 

Mickey hummed deep, looking up at him. 

Ian’s eyes almost crossed, “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

Mickey pulled off with a slick wet pop, “You need a break already?” There was a grin that pulled at the corner of his mouth.

Ian smirked, grabbing him and moving quickly to get the brunette under him, planting his hands on either side of Mickey’s head. He kissed that perfect mouth savagely, moaning when it was returned in kind. They bit and sucked at each others lips and tongues. Ian tugged at Mickey’s sweatpants, pulling them off and throwing them somewhere.

“Didn’t tell me your mouth was that fucking good,” Ian murmured against Mickey’s lips.

Mickey’s legs, his gorgeous thick legs, wrapped around Ian’s hips, pulling him down. Skin against skin. “You didn’t tell me you had a dick like that.” 

Ian couldn’t help it, he grinned like the fucking devil. Who doesn't love a good ego boost, especially coming out of a mouth like Mickey’s. He growled, dropping his lips to the brunette’s throat as his hands explored the soft skin of strong legs, sliding up until he was curling his fist around Mickey’s dick. He was rewarded with a throaty moan, bucking hips. 

“You sound so good,” Ian whispered against the skin of Mickey’s throat. He bit and sucked at him there, drawing out more noises. Mickey’s rough sounds were driving him fucking wild. He slid his hand from Mickey’s cock, dragging searching fingers down and under until he pressed the pad of his middle finger to Mickey’s hole. 

Ian wanted to hear what Mickey sounded like when he pushed deep inside. Wanted to see those blue eyes flutter and that full mouth  _ whine _ for more. The other man probably took it so goddamn beautifully. Holy  _ shit _ Ian wanted Mickey so bad that his skin was itching for it.

Mickey grabbed the back of his hair hard and Ian shuddered over the brunette, his teeth scraping against the column of Mickey’s throat. “Wanted to be inside you so fucking bad, this whole fucking time,” Ian confessed, his voice was all dark and strained with want, words slurred against pale skin. 

“You got a rubber for that?” Mickey flashed a sleazy grin as he directed Ian’s head up to look at him. His full lips were puffy and red from being bitten and sucked and kissed and stretched all from Ian in some way, like some kind of stake he’d claimed.

Mickey’s eyes were heavy with want, and so goddamn blue. If Ian didn’t know before, he for sure knew it now. He didn’t have to be a goddamn fortune teller to predict what was going to happen after everything was said and done. 

“‘Course I do,” Ian breathed. He pressed his finger against Mickey for emphasis, making him squirm, eyes fluttering.

“Good.”

Ian could have sung. Instead he leaned back on his knees, looking down at the man sprawled out under him, flushed, his hard cock left a wet smear over pale skin, legs pulled to rest on either side of Ian’s hips. Just fucking open and ready. Mickey was looking back up at him with that same focused stare, all glowy as his chest rose and fell with every breath, surrounded by soft white sheets. It was one of those times that Ian wished he had a camera that could take a picture of exactly how he sees what he’s looking at. 

“Goddamn, Gallagher —knew you’d look good, but  _ fuck _ .” Mickey’s raspy, blissed-out voice when he made the comment made Ian flush blazing hot all over. Ian watched the brunette reach down, tattooed fingers wrapping around his own cock as he said it, giving himself a slow stroke. 

If he weren’t so ready to fuck the man under him, Ian would want to stay just like this and watch Mickey’s hand finish the job. The hunger and mutual attraction in Mickey’s eyes was  _ really _ getting to him, making his chest flutter as if he’d never heard someone tell him he looked good before. 

“Get on me,” Mickey murmured. 

Ian was actually impressed with how quick he was in retrieving his condom from his wallet, which was tucked into his wadded up jeans half under Mickey’s bed. When he got settled back over the brunette, grinning when he saw that a small bottle of lube had magically appeared next to where they were tangled up together, he kissed Mickey again.

It was wild how they moved in sync, like they had already done this together before, like they already knew what the other was about to do. Ian knew he was a dumb romantic sap, but they were clicking faster than and more than anyone else Ian had been with. He couldn’t help but notice that. 

Getting Mickey ready for him was fucking magic. Kissing him through it was fucking magic. Mickey’s hands were everywhere, gripping and blunt nails scratching. Ian drew it out just to hear more, sunk fingers into tight heat slow, and tapped just the right spot. He bent down to take Mickey’s leaking cock into his mouth, groaning deep when strong thighs tensed and shook, hips bucked, fingers tugging at Ian’s hair. Magic.

“C’mon,” was said when Ian got back to that full mouth waiting for him, but he didn’t know if he was the one who said it or not.

Mickey took over with the condom, had Ian panting into the crook of his neck as he rolled it onto his dick, giving him a firm stroke as he did. Fuck, he was  _ so _ keyed up. 

“Better know how to use that cock,” Mickey murmured against his mouth with a smirk.

“Yeah well, let’s see if you can take it first,” Ian grabbed Mickey’s hips, moving them, dragging the brunette to the edge of the bed. They grinned at each other, Ian warmed seeing Mickey’s eyes light up behind the want and lust, no effort in hiding that he was enjoying every bit of this just as much as Ian was. It just felt so fucking natural.

Ian took Mickey from behind, even though he really wanted to see those blue eyes when he was buried deep. Next round. Mickey was fucking brazen and ready for it, situating his knees on the edge of the mattress, ass up and waiting while Ian ran his hands everywhere he could, fingers sinking into him again, sinking deep and slow.

He groaned at the sight of Mickey tight around his fingers, his other hand smoothing over soft skin. Mickey dropped down to his elbows, head lulling between his shoulders when Ian pressed against that sweet spot inside, his other fingers pressing into the fat of his ass, pulling him apart.

“Gonna have a taste of this later,” Ian told Mickey. He wanted Mickey shaking from his mouth and tongue, wanted to lay him the fuck out and go to town for as long as he could, until his jaw and tongue couldn’t move anymore. He bent to spit where his fingers were still sunk into the brunette, giving himself more to slide with, just because.

Mickey’s groan was loud but muffled against the mattress, fists twisted into the sheets on either side of him. Tattooed knuckles whitening under the pressure.

Ian couldn’t stop his cocky smirk, slipping his fingers from the other man. “Yeah, bet you’d love that perfect ass riding my face, huh?” He teased Mickey with the tip of his dick, pushing gently against him. “Want you swallowing my cock down when I fuck you with my tongue. You good with that?”

“Fuck, yeah,” Mickey’s answer was torn breathless from his mouth, hands leaving wrinkled sheets to reach back and pull himself open for Ian, ready and waiting. Fucking  _ brazen _ —it was contagious.

Ian’s mouth just about watered, wasting no more time dragging out the teasing and working Mickey up, he needed to be inside the brunette. He planted a hand at the small of Mickey’s arched back, his other wrapped around himself as he pushed forward slowly. 

Thankfully Ian’s blissed-out eye roll wasn’t seen by the brunette. Mickey was punching out these rough breathy noises as he was filled up, his fingertips digging into his ass. Even though it’s been a while without even something as simple as a hand hold, and they barely even started yet, Ian is pretty sure this was already the best fuck of his goddamn life.

“Holy  _ fuck _ , man,” Mickey slurred, his hold on himself slipping. “Holy fuck that’s…”

Vaguely aware that he was holding his breath, Ian grabbed for the bottle of lube, dripping more between them as he pushed deeper. Judging by the ragged groan and roll of the other man’s spine, he was right on track.

They were fucking  _ wild _ together. Moved perfect. Not only on the same page, but the same goddamn sentence —the same goddamn word. 

Ian fucked into Mickey deep, fucked him hard. His fingers were going to bruise the brunette’s hips for sure. That sick, pounding slap of flesh against flesh would be burned into Ian’s mind for the next week. But it was nothing compared to the guttural, needy noises coming from Mickey’s mouth.

Tattooed fingers were back to clawing at the sheets. Mickey’s voice rasping as he keened for Ian  _ so _ fucking deliciously that it sounded like they’d been practicing at it for years. “Fuck, so fucking good,” Mickey bit out, breathless. “S’fucking full…”

Ian was swirling static on the inside, buried inside tight heat that he fucking swore was made just for his cock. The feel of Mickey’s ass slapping against his hips was almost too much. It was hot and dirty hookup sex on this other level —the kind of fucking you need when your body is itching all over for it to the point of a fucking breakdown. Like both of them simultaneously and silently agreed that they were going to leave inhibitions on the fucking floor where they belonged and just give and take as much as they needed, how they needed it.

Quickly and carefully while he was buried to the fucking hilt Ian shifted them, pushing Mickey flat on his front. He shifted his legs, caging Mickey’s hips in while he bent at the waist over the other man, teeth nipping behind Mickey’s ear.

“Gonna make you come like this,” Ian kept his voice low behind Mickey’s ear as he spoke. His hips were tight against Mickey’s ass when he fucked forward. Short deep pushes into the brunette, making both of them shiver and moan for it. “Then m’gonna come all over that perfect ass —s’mine tonight, Mick.”

Mickey shuddered, one of his hands gripping Ian’s thigh, “ _ Fuck _ !”

Ian bit down on the back of Mickey’s shoulder, giving him a good hard couple of fucks as he did so. They sounded so rough with their breathing and grunting layered over the subtle creak of the mattress, the sharp slap of skin when Ian gave himself a little more room to drive Mickey over that edge he was teetering.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” Mickey punched out against the mattress. His skin was slick with sweat, flushed, glowing like he had a goddamn light shining from the inside out. His dark hair was dampened and sticking to his creased forehead. Ian wouldnt’ve been able to see his baby blues anyways, since the brunette had his eyes screwed up tight. “Ri’fucking there —there there there, fuck!”

Then Mickey tensed up, holding his breath. Right there.

Uh uh. Ian kept his hips moving as he laid back on Mickey again, lips pushing against his ear from behind. He must’ve been possessed, knowing full well that if it had been anyone else he was fucking for the first time the words, “Open that fucking mouth and show me how hard this cock makes you come,” would never had left his mouth. But he didn’t even second guess it, didn’t even feel a wash of embarrassment.

The gasp Mickey made was twisted with a sick grin, a growling moan bubbling up from somewhere deep within. “Damn, Gallagher,” his voice scratched out.

“Come for me,” Ian bit and dragged his tongue over the shell of Mickey’s ear. 

He was so close, knew Mickey was even closer being filled to the fucking brim while his cock humped against the mattress with Ian’s every thrust. He moved Mickey’s arms straight out in front of the both of them, watching as yet again, tattooed fingers curled up into the sheets. 

“Cannot believe how good you take me,” Ian added. “Fucking perfect.”

“M’right there,” Mickey interrupted with a slur in his voice, head nodding. Ian wasn’t sure how he did it, but he felt the brunette pushing back against him again, driving himself harder to the edge. His voice fell to a heady whisper between short gasps, “Right there, fuck me right there. S’good —s’good, fuck its’good…”

Ian sat back, hips pushing faster as he grabbed at Mickey’s ass, pulling him open to watch his dick disappear into the other man over and over. He knew the angle shift would do the trick. He was right.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Mickey chanted over and over. He reached back for Ian, hooking his grip around the back of Ian’s knee, holding on. Then it was like a strike of lightning, how fast the brunette was hit, how he twisted and shook under Ian, hands grappling for anything to grab onto like they’d forgotten about the sheet.

Three more pushes and Ian was losing control, pulling from Mickey’s body to rip his condom off and finish himself with his hand over the other man’s still-writhing, sex-flushed body. Ian stroked himself quickly while he stared down at the pinkened pale skin, admiring his cock’s handiwork and how fucking filthy sexy Mickey looked all pink and slicked up from being buried into over and over by Ian.

“C’mon,” Mickey’s voice was tired but still thick with want, hand going back to gripping the back of Ian’s knee. “Fucking want it, c’mon.”

Ian hummed, sliding his cock between Mickey’s asscheeks, spreading the leftover lube over himself. Fuck, he was going to paint all over Mickey’s perfect ass like he had some sort of claim on the man. 

As far as Ian was concerned, tonight he fucking absolutely  _ did _ have a claim on him. He was going to savor every fucking second of this. Tonight Mickey was his to the point where Ian knew that even after he came he was still going to be crawling all over the man. He was  _ already _ imagining how he was going to take him next.

It hit like a thunderstorm, rolled right over him from the tips of his toes on up. He could barely keep his eyes open. Ian stroked himself through it, blearily watching his come land over Mickey’s ass in sticky ropes. Mickey moaned, hips pushing back into it and Ian couldn’t help but moan right after in agreement.

“Holy shit,” Ian shuddered through a breath.

Mickey’s hips pushed back again with a groan, the movement exposing the softest parts of him framed by Ian’s claim. Mickey’s ass was littered with red fingerprint marks, as were his hips and thighs. Ian groaned down at the sight, trailing the tip of his middle finger over Mickey’s hole.

The brunette sucked air through his teeth, hips and spine rolling once more, pushing back. Ian rubbed his middle and ring finger over him, teasing, wanting to dip inside. “Mm,” Mickey’s hum flowed into a chuckle. “Gonna wear me the fuck out, Red.”

Even though he had every intention to do just that, he’d still never know what came over him. He didn’t understand how he was letting go like this, but the sight before him stirred something in Ian, and he was sliding back, bending down, pulling Mickey apart to lick into the brunette’s slicked, sensitive hole. Didn’t even care about the taste of lube and latex and come. Fuck it.

“Oh my god,” Mickey keened, raising to his knees; Ian followed with tongue fucking the only thing on his mind. He should be exhausted. Should be coming down. He wasn’t, not by a long shot. He literally could not get enough of this man right now. 

“Love how fucking filthy you are,” Mickey grunted. Ian felt him shift, felt fingers tighten into his hair holding him in place tight, and it made him groan low and long. “Yeah get in there, fuck me.”

Ian hummed as he pulled Mickey apart more, digging his tongue into Mickey’s ass, up and down his perineum, sucking and drooling. His come is making his grip on Mickey’s ass slip, but he doesn’t care. It’s a mess. It’s fucking great.

“Fuck, like that.”

He backed up just enough to quickly say, “Gonna feel me for days,” then spit over Mickey’s tender hole before he dived back in, working his mouth and tongue against the other man fluidly, lapping against him, pressing and sucking.

Every time the brunette sat down, laid in this bed, wrapped his hand around his own cock, shoved his fingers inside of himself… Ian wanted him to remember. He wanted Mickey to crave him as much as he was going to crave Mickey after this. 

He’s not sure he’s ever felt this pull to just go full primal and let his body take over. Like a goddamn caveman. Something, maybe from the moment they first met, really clicked on a deep level. Because this was fucking  _ wild _ for Ian, for the first time ever hooking up —diving tongue first into a dudes ass immediately after plowing into him until both of them came? God.

“Goddamn you’re gonna make me fucking hard again,” Mickey groaned rough. 

Good. 

And that was just the beginning of the night.

* * *

Ian had left the morning after… well, the following afternoon. He was sore in places he hadn’t been sore for a long time, sweetly aching in his thighs, across his scalp. When he glanced at himself in the mirror, there were marks all over his freckled skin. Suck and scratch marks, light bruises over his hips, his arms, his thighs. 

He’d feel and see Mickey on himself for days. He liked that. 

They had a short sort-of conversation about it. Ian had never just fallen into someone like that before, he told Mickey, “I don’t normally do this.”

Mickey had smirked at him as he leaned against the frame of his front door, eyes dragging up and down, “You don’t normally fuck? Doubt that.”

“Not like that, not the first time with someone,” Ian would normally be hot around the ears saying this, but it came out how everything else had, completely natural. Easy. 

He wanted to kiss Mickey one last time. 

Mickey didn’t say anything to that, but he did stretch out that smirk a little, his hand reaching over to tug on Ian’s belt, bringing him closer. “I work with your brother.”

Ian nodded, “I know, I’m just saying… that was—”

“A real fucking good hookup,” Mickey finished for him. “One for the books, man.”

Ian grabbed Mickey’s face, pressing their lips together. The other man melted against him, falling into the kiss like he’d been waiting for it too. He tasted so good. Ian licked into Mickey’s mouth slowly, drawing it out, savoring it. Mickey sucked on his upper lip, and Ian’s knees almost gave out.

Foreheads pressed together; Ian says, “You ever need an itch scratched, you got my number.”

Mickey chuckled at that, letting Ian’s belt go, leaning away. Ian had been serious, but also not completely because while it’s not  _ impossible _ to make something work with a dude your brother works with, and it doesn’t have to be a big deal… Ian still had the Danny situation looming in the back of his mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know lol


	3. Three

“I think your brother knows.”

To explain… fifteen days after Ian and Mickey hooked up, a (fantastic, as far as Ian is concerned) little bit of fate happened. 

Ian had been up late working on an assignment; it was nearing midnight, he had absolutely nothing in his fridge that he didn’t have to cook but was fucking starving. The excuse to leave his apartment and go for a drive to scrounge up something to eat was a welcome distraction.

So how Ian managed to drive by the right open-late pizza place at the right time and think,  _ yeah greasy dough and cheese at midnight is an excellent idea _ , is beyond him. Because he wasn’t the only one up late working, starving and not wanting to cook. Ian and Mickey didn’t even live close enough to both pick the same goddamn pizza joint. It just… happened that way. Fate, right?

Mickey had looked like a whole fucking meal, and he was just wearing jeans and a hoodie that Ian suspected didn’t always belong to the brunette on account of it being at least two sizes too big. It looked like something Mickey had brought with him from South Side. Ian looked down at himself and thought he looked like a rumpled nerd. But Mickey still gave him those eyes, so he forgot about it. 

_ Tell me something _ , Mickey had said. So Ian did. 

They sat there and talked until the staff started mopping and putting chairs up, and even after that they stayed in the parking lot, still talking. 

They talked about everything. Maybe it was because Ian knew so much about Mickey, so he felt comfortable sharing. Or maybe it was because they fucked each others brains out already, what use was there in being shy. But Ian told Mickey about shit that only his family knew, about shit he’d never in a million years tell someone he was interested in. And —especially after that night— Ian was interested in Mickey. In a  _ real _ way. Beyond the sex —and the sex was  _ fantastic _ .

_ Tell me something. _

Ian had told Mickey about the hospital. About the club. The men. He told Mickey about the gap in his timeline —the gap that encompassed the months before his official diagnosis all the way to the decision he made to finally apply to college. It doesn’t happen very often, but shit like that comes up. The gap. Where was he, what was he doing with his life? Nothing good.

He told Mickey about Danny.

He told Mickey about his mother. And that was tough, but he did it. Because he wanted to. He told Mickey about her ups and downs, her running away every chance she got, how he’s terrified of becoming like her. He told him about Thanksgiving. About all of it.

Mickey just sat there and listened. Said shit he needed to say when he needed to say it, asked what he needed to ask when the time came. Mickey had seen some shit, so maybe that’s why there wasn’t judgement. He said everyone has shit —everyone is fucked up. Yeah.

_ Tell me something. _

That’s about the time when Mickey finally told Ian what happened before his father’s heart attack. And Ian doesn’t know how Mickey doesn’t have some kind of fucking PTSD from that day —maybe he does though. Or maybe he did but is moving past it. If Ian’s learned anything about that kind of shit in his life it’s that people deal however they’re going to deal and just because you don’t understand it, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t work for them. 

The way Mickey spoke about that time in his life was like he was obviously still affected on some level (just look at his career), but for the most part had processed it all. Like he finally felt safe now that his own personal boogie-man was gone, but just because he was gone it didn’t mean that he never existed.

Mickey told him about the boy he was caught with, how he’d cared about him. How he sat on his living room couch and just stared through swollen eyes at his father's body until flashing lights in front of his house snapped him out of it. He told Ian about how suffocating it was growing up how he did, with the father he had. He’d never been free a day in his life until Terry was gone for good. He told Ian about how he’d wanted to  _ opt out _ after his father died —how his sister saved him from himself somehow, Mickey would never know how.

There was no way for Ian to not feel closer to Mickey after that. They stood in that parking lot for longer than they had to. Never touched once, but by the time Ian was driving away, his whole body felt flushed and tingly from the way Mickey looked at him before they parted ways. 

Five days after that, Ian got a text.  ** _You busy this weekend?_ **

And it’s been a hell of a three weeks ever since. Both of them worked long hours, but the nights they could steal away with each other —the weekends especially— they really took advantage of. 

Ian took his eyes off of the television screen to look over at Mickey, “Why do you think that?”. They were just hanging out at this point, but Ian still felt the dull sting from Mickey’s blunt nails down his back from just a bit ago. Mickey wanted Ian to watch this one episode of Shark Tank that he thought was funny as shit. It was.

“Well,” Mickey stuck a cigarette between his lips and lit up, mumbling through his response. “When he couldn’t get a hold of your ass today, guess who he asked to try to call you and make sure you were okay. That and I just think he knows.”

Ian and Lip were supposed to meet for lunch. Ms. Anders had other plans when she dumped a stack of paperwork in front of him, and honestly Ian got so bombarded and overwhelmed that he didn’t even think to call his brother, or check his silenced phone until he’d finally clocked out. It was competitive at the newspaper, and when Anders says focus nothing else, you  _ focus _ .

He felt the blood drain from his face, his eyes going wide like saucers, “What?” Before Mickey could answer, Ian turned more towards him, frown covering his face, “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

Mickey shrugged his shoulders, eyes rolling while a cloud of smoke poured from his nose, “The fuck’s it matter if I said it now or earlier? Doesn’t change anything.”

Ian knew Mickey had a point, but he still wanted to shake him. “Fuck,” he decided on sinking heavily back against the headboard instead. 

“Maybe he just asked because he knows I got your number,” Mickey suggested. “No one else in the lab does… and you weren’t picking up.”

Ian didn’t know how to process this, but he nodded in agreement with the alternative theory. It wasn’t the end of the world, Ian wouldn’t blow it  _ that _ out of proportion. Didn’t take away the fact that it felt like this perfect little bubble had been potentially popped. 

If Lip did know, he wasn’t going to be thrilled. And though Lip certainly didn’t get to dictate who Ian did and did not get to fuck…there was the ever-looming  _ Danny situation _ . Danny had turned into a real nightmare for Lip, distracting from important work. Danny’s hurricane fling with Ian bled over into the lab, and it hadn’t been good.

Mickey works with Lip. Every day. Doing important work. Every day. The last thing their important work needed was any underlying tension because Ian couldn’t keep his goddamn dick in his pants.

It was one of those times where Ian wanted to ask Mickey what they were doing. Where was this going. If it was just fucking, then fine (ouch, but fine). But they talked  _ so _ much. They knew  _ so _ much. Maybe if Ian had more of a handle on what to call the situation with Mickey, he would feel more confident about what Lip did or didn’t know. 

“He hasn’t said anything to me about it,” Ian couldn’t think of anything else to say.

After a beat, Mickey asked, “So… you ended up talking to him?”

Ian nodded, sighing out a breath of  _ well whatever _ , because there was literally nothing he could do about anything. Either Lip knew or he didn’t know, either Lip was or is going to be pissed about it, or he wasn't. Either way, there wasn’t anything Ian could do about it. 

“Yeah, I called him back.”

Mickey hummed. Ian looked over at him again, watching the brunette nod his head, taking another drag of his cigarette. His shoulders looked a little tense. Ian didn’t know what he was watching for a second, seeing the other man seem to turn several things over in his head, his mouth quirking from side to side in thought.

Then finally Mickey cleared his throat, “So everything’s alright?”

Ian narrowed his eyes at Mickey for a second, watching careful baby blues glance his way before running off again. Shy was not a thing Mickey usually was, not anymore. But…  _ oh _ . Ian tucked his lips between his teeth, cutting his giddy grin before it started. “Were you worried about me?”

Mickey gave him a flat look in response. “Your brother was having a fucking fit.”

Ian doubted it. “Seemed pretty calm when I talked to him, just annoyed.”

Mickey sucked on his teeth, stubbing his cigarette out before he got out of bed, not bothering to cover up as he walked to the bathroom. “Yeah well he probably calmed the fuck down by that time.”

“You  _ were _ worried about me,” Ian let his grin surface that time, following Mickey into the bathroom. It was nice but modest, nothing more than what Mickey needed, just like the rest of his place. Comfy. 

Mickey’s eyes rolled this time as he reached into the shower, turning the water on. “Please,” he scoffed.

Ian leaned his hip against the bathroom counter, arms folded in front of his chest. He couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face, feeling like a goddamn kid learning that the boy he’d been crushing on looked at him for longer than three seconds.

“Holy shit you really were worried—”

“I called you three times, texted you twice like some bitch. You didn’t think to fucking call  _ me _ back, let me know you were alright?” Mickey’s brows shot up. Ian didn’t necessarily think texting someone twice made them a bitch, but he decided against pointing that out.

Ian’s face fell. No, Mickey  _ had _ been worried. But like  _ actually _ worried. “Mick…”

Mickey didn’t say anything back, just shook his head and climbed into the shower. Ian followed him, not letting the brunette run away. They didn’t  _ not _ talk. They talked. It’s probably what Ian cherished the most about whatever this was.

“I should’ve called you,” Ian said. Mickey was standing under the hot water; it was tempting to get distracted by that. “I got crazy swamped at work and I guess I figured I’d see you tonight anyway…I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking, but I didn’t know you were texting me  _ for Lip _ , you didn’t say that!” 

Mickey sighed with a lift of a shoulder, “I’m just sayin’ — someone calls you, you should call them back.”

It really didn’t happen a lot, only if the walls got knocked down too far and Mickey started to tense up from it, but Ian hated when Mickey started dismissing whatever he felt. He acted like he didn’t really care all that much, that this was just a fun fuck for him when he could spare the time. Maybe it was. 

That would  _ really _ fucking suck.

Sometimes it was like Mickey could talk about all this shit with Ian, could fuck with the intensity of homesick lovers…he could give every single bit of himself over. Except for that piece in his chest. If that piece in his chest was touched, he’d start  _ this _ shit.

So Ian backed Mickey against the cool shower wall, caging him in while he pressed a kiss to his slack mouth. Mickey grunted soft, kissing back like instinct. The hot water rained down on them as Ian worked his mouth slow against the brunette’s, sighing when Mickey kissed him harder, tongue teasing against his. 

But Ian pulled back a bit, breathing hard and looking into heavy baby blues, “Tell me something,” he whispered before kissing Mickey again. There’d be no running away this time.

“You’re a dick for not calling me back,” Mickey’s response was quiet.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Ian said.

Mickey looked up at him, a little edge to his stare. He had to realize what Ian was asking, because those haunches threatened to raise all the way up. Shoulders tense and defiant. Brows creased. 

Ian didn’t back down this time though, still under that spray of hot water, still pressing Mickey against the wall. He brushed his lips across Mickey’s, softening his request. When they said  _ tell me something _ , it meant tell me something real, tell me something you don’t want to tell me because it scares you. 

That’s what it always boiled down to.  _ Cut the bullshit and tell me something _ .

Mickey sniffed, eyes closing. Finally, “Haven’t kissed anyone since I was seventeen. Not til you.”

If Ian didn’t know what it meant to feel breathless before then, he sure as fuck knew now. He had zero response to that, a million different emotions flooding him from head to toe. Ian almost felt a little selfish, a little bit like an asshole, because there was this part of him that was fucking  _ swooning _ and awestruck that Mickey picked him after all those years.

The larger part of him was heartbroken for the man in front of him. Heartbroken for another person like he’d never been before. Because he knew why.

“Mickey,” Ian whispered, it’s all he could say.

With another sniff, and a subtle puff of his chest, Mickey stood up straighter, moving around Ian to get to the shampoo. “Happy now?”

Something came over Ian. “I —I wanna tell you something.”

It looked like someone clamped a metal rod to Mickey’s spine. He froze. Ian froze, mildly horrified that these words were about to come out of his mouth while Mickey had a glob of shampoo in the palm of his hand, and especially when their whole  _ situation _ was so undefined. 

Were they even fucking  _ dating _ ?

“You need to think about what you wanna tell me,” Mickey’s voice was soft but firm. He turned his head to look at Ian, brows lifted. “Before you open your mouth, use your fucking head to think about about what this is, Red.”

Ian stood there and watched Mickey scrub shampoo into his hair while he tried to sort out everything in his head. Sometimes Mickey made all the sense in the world, but sometimes he was so full of shit, it amazed Ian. 

“Tell me why you were worried,” Ian said.

Mickey looked at him, rinsed his hair out, “You weren’t answering.”

No. 

“Then tell me why you let me kiss you,” Ian knew he was pushing and Mickey hated that, but he didn’t care. Mickey could worry about Ian, let Ian kiss him for what seemed like hours sometimes, tell Ian all these deep dark secrets about… _ everything _ , but he’d try to shoot Ian down before anything was ever said about how they felt about each other. 

He’d gone so many years dodging kisses, but allowed Ian. He’d spilled all of his guts to Ian, admitting over and over that he doesn’t talk about that shit with anyone else  _ ever _ . He even got fucking jealous —didn’t even  _ try _ to hide that shit either— when his neighbor asked Ian for his number last week. This,  _ whatever it was _ , wasn’t nothing. He couldn’t run from this. He couldn’t bullshit this one.

Ian hadn’t washed his hair or any of his body, but Mickey had shut the water off anyways, climbing back out of the shower. Running away.

“M’talking to you,” Ian followed.

“Take a hint, Red,” Mickey sighed, grabbing a towel. Ian grabbed the one he always uses, barely needing to dry off, but doing so anyway.

He wanted to scream. Yes it had only been three fucking weeks, but this was a very different three weeks from your average fling. Mickey knew that. Mickey would have to be a fucking soulless, heartless bastard to believe this was like any other fling. And Mickey was nowhere near heartless or soulless.

“ _ You _ take a fucking hint, Mickey,” Ian bit out. He grabbed his boxers that were on the floor, pulling them on. “I’m not doing this shit with you anymore if—”

Mickey punched out a laugh, “Are you  _ really _ tryna use your dick as leverage right now? If I don’t play this fucking game, no more cock? Okay, tough guy.”

“What game?” Ian threw his hands out. “What game is me asking you why you fucking kissed me?”

“The one where you get me to tell you shit or else you leave. I don’t fucking do ultimatums. Door’s that way,” Mickey pointed towards his bedroom door.

So much for their weekend. Ian couldn’t fucking deal with this shit, he knew why Mickey was going into defense mode, but at the same time he really didn’t fucking understand it. Ian didn’t play games with Mickey, he never had and Mickey knew that. Honestly, this was the healthiest non-relationship relationship Ian’s ever fucking had.

“I’m not giving you an ultimatum,” Ian said patiently, slowly. “I’m just trying to figure out what the fuck this is, Mickey.”

“Why does it have to be anything? Why can’t it just be what the fuck it is?”

“Tell me what  _ it _ is then!” Ian laughed hallowly. “I’m in this shit too, I have the  _ right _ to fucking know where I stand with you!”

Mickey took a deep breath, already dressed while Ian was still just in his boxers. “We fuck. We talk. We hang out.”

“That’s not an answer,” Ian shook his head. He sat down on the edge of Mickey’s bed, making it clear he had no intention of walking out of this apartment until they were finished talking. Did not care one bit if he looked like he was pouting, did not care one bit if he was being difficult.  _ Mickey _ was being difficult. 

The brunette crossed his arms in front of his chest, jaw clenching under his skin. “Just because it’s not the answer you want—”

“Do  _ not _ insult me by trying to say this is nothing, Mickey,” Ian’s eyes went hard, along with his whole body —not in the good way. “Why don’t you try that shit with someone who doesn’t know you like I know you.”

Mickey was quiet for a while, standing there with his arms crossed for before they dropped, before he shook his head and walked out of his room. 

Ian didn’t know if he should follow or not. He just… he did and didn’t understand. He knew Mickey, so he understood the part that was guarded, and he knew why. But still how could you open up that much and still try to claim that the person you bared your fucking soul to —fucked with absolutely  _ no _ inhibitions— meant nothing more than a fuck and a good conversation? How?

Ian dressed himself. Maybe he should go after all. Maybe Mickey could only give him so much of himself. Maybe he needed to wake the fuck up.

Fuck, it made him question everything about… _ everything _ . 

Like maybe it really wasn’t that deep and the truth was that he was falling for a guy who just wanted some company from time to time, just wanted a sounding board for all the fucked up shit swirling around his head.

Maybe Mickey had someone else. Someone he actually had feelings for. Someone he could give that piece in his chest to, who he wanted to hold onto and not “scare away” with his truth. Ian remembers Mickey once making a comment about not talking about the shit they talk about especially with anyone he’s been with, not wanting to scare off dudes with his past. 

God, Ian would hate that. That would break his fucking heart. That  _ you’re fucking kidding yourself  _ feeling bubbled up from his belly, tightening around his throat. You’re kidding yourself. Of course. Of  _ course _ . 

Is this what Danny felt like —was this his karma?

“Are you leaving?”

Ian looked up from buttoning his jeans, seeing Mickey in the doorway. “Are you with someone else?” Ian hadn’t planned on asking that, but now it was the only thing hammering his brain.

Mickey creased his brows, taking a step towards Ian, “No —the  _ fuck _ , are you?”

“No,” Ian told him.

“Why would you ask that?” Mickey took another step towards him, his face not hiding anything this time. Confusion. Hurt. 

“I don’t know, I can’t work anything out in my head right now!” Ian said. “I can’t work out how we have whatever the  _ fuck _ this is and you still can’t tell me why you kissed me back.”

“Because I wanted to, Ian,” Mickey said.

Ian sighed, “Because you wanted to.”

Mickey nodded, “Yeah. I fucking  _ wanted _ to. That’s why. If you know me as well as you say you do…” he didn’t finish. Didn’t need to.

His whole body warmed, head to toe. “Tell me what this is, Mickey.” He just needed to hear it.

“C’mere,” Mickey whispered, giving his head a single nod for Ian to follow. 

Ian went to him, standing close until the brunette reached for him, catching one of his elbows in a sure grip. They stared at each other for long moments, Ian’s breath caught in his throat waiting for the other man to continue.

“I was worried about you, because I  _ have _ to know you’re okay, because if you’re not okay I can’t… I can’t breathe,” Mickey kept his voice low like he was telling a secret even though it was only them in the entire apartment. Ian felt his stomach flip, felt and heard his heart thrash. “I let you kiss me because I trust you, and because I wanted to. I never wanted to after that shit went down back in the day, I  _ couldn’t _ do it.” Blue eyes looked up at Ian’s green’s. “I fucking  _ wanted _ to kiss you, but I was too much of a pussy to make the first move.”

Ian framed Mickey’s face with his hands, rubbing the pad of his thumb over Mickey’s full bottom lip, “Mickey, tell me something. Please.” 

Before he did, Mickey tugged the front of Ian’s shirt, bringing him closer. Ian sighed heavy into their kiss, savoring it a whole new way, breathing in the other man while he tasted the inside of his mouth, slow. The fact that Mickey went so long without someone appreciating these goddamn lips was a fucking crime in and of itself. Ian was just  _ absurdly _ grateful that Mickey didn’t ever push him away.

With a slow pullback, Mickey answered, “I want more.”

Ian pushed his body snug against Mickey’s feeling the heat radiating from him, “More of what?”

“Us. You,” Mickey whispered, kissing Ian once. His arms tightened around Ian’s middle, keeping him right where he wanted him. Ian wouldn’t argue. “Fucking scares me that I want more.” Mickey kissed him again slow, soft. “How I feel about you scares the fuck out of me. You know  _ everything _ and…”

Ian nodded before he kissed Mickey, accepting his loss of words. He kissed him deeper this time, like he was showing Mickey that none of their kisses would ever be wasted, they’d never be unappreciated. He understood because he felt the same. It really  _ did _ scare him, how much he felt for Mickey. It scared him that he’d told Mickey about all the deep dark shit in his past, and Mickey still kissed him back. 

* * *

“I think I have to tell you something. Or I  _ should _ tell you, don’t  _ have _ to,” Ian said across the table from his brother. They were at lunch since the other day went to shit. They ended up just grabbing sandwiches at the deli across from Lip’s building. It was alright.

Ian had an agenda though. Because both he and Mickey wanted more. Felt more. Mickey was becoming more and more important to Ian every day it seemed like. It had been like that for a while though, sometimes they’d just lay there in the quiet together, tangled up in each other until they fell asleep. The way Mickey would look at Ian made him think for a moment that nothing else existed, and it was really hard to ignore.

It hadn’t been said, but Ian thought that he loved Mickey. He thought maybe Mickey loved him back. It seemed like it. Felt like it.

“About what?” Lip asked.

Ian took a deep breath, bracing himself for another  _ Danny _ conversation to immediately take place after he got this out, “About someone I’ve been seeing.”

Lip huffed a laugh, eyes rolling, “Yeah, I know you and Mickey have been banging.”

What? He shook his head, eyes raising towards the ceiling. Ian hoped he and Mickey had been wrong about Lip knowing, “How the fuck—”

“He’s gay and repressed, you’re gay and relentless…so knew that powder keg was gonna go off eventually.”

“You knew he was gay this whole time?” Ian frowned. He was going to kill his brother. What a fucking dick. Ian grinned though, “I fucking  _ asked _ you!”

Lip gave him a slow, shitty smile, “Yeah, I did know.”

“How did you know?”

Lip pulled a face as he laughed, “I grew up with you, dumbass, I learned to pick up on things. I mean listen, this rep came in one day and was throwing Mickey all sorts of flirty shit, she might as well have been flirting with the fucking wall —and that chick was  _ everyone’s _ type. So…”

Ian laughed, exhaling a long breath of relief. “You don’t seem upset,” he pointed out.

Maybe Lip grew up a little bit and Ian hadn’t noticed. His brother shrugged, “You’re two consenting adults.” He paused, taking a deep breath, “listen man, I figured if it was gonna happen, it was gonna happen. But I wasn’t gonna just hook you up with my co-worker, Ian.”

“Right, you work with him,” Ian said. He didn’t want to point out how impressed he was with Lip’s reaction though, didn’t want to jinx it. “Danny worked with you.”

“Yeah,” Lip shrugged again, head shaking. “I thought about it and you were right… you’re in  _ such _ a better place than you were back then. Plus Mickey’s not Danny… Danny was a bright eyed, corn-fed fucking Nebraska boy. I mean, his parents are still happily married.”

Well, he had a point.

Ian’s eyebrows almost felt permanently raised, “This was a lot easier than I thought it was going to be,” he admitted.

“You could do worse than Mickey Milkovich,” Lip said it like it was the last thing he wanted to say ever in his life. “He’s a prick but…eh, I dunno. He’s okay. You know, he’s actually been a fucking delight at the lab —I mean, as much of a delight as he can. So, thanks.”

He felt a bubble of something light and airy in his chest. Ian, caught up in the moment, put his elbows on the table between him and his brother and sighed, “I think I’m falling in love with him.”

Lip rolled his eyes so hard his lashes fluttered, “ _ Jesus _ , Ian. It’s only been a couple months.”

“I’m gay and relentless.”


	4. Four

There was some kind of conference in Silicon Valley that both Lip and Mickey, and the rest of their team from the lab, were invited to. Three day ordeal, but most people attending spent the whole week. Mickey and Lip’s team were among those who stayed. Which kind of sucked.

But again, as Lip said. Gay and relentless.

Ian wasn’t able to fly out until after the whole conference, which…honestly, thank god. As much as he cared about Mickey and would  _ love _ to immerse himself in his boyfriend’s world like that, even he had his limits.

Mickey had no idea Ian was going to surprise him, and neither did Lip because Ian didn’t exactly trust his brother not to spill the beans, even on accident. It had to be perfect, it had to be  _ grossly _ sweet. Ian wanted his fucking romcom moment with his boyfriend, followed by some heavy hotel love-making until they passed out from exhaustion.

His boyfriend. Mickey was his boyfriend, and it wasn’t even  _ a little bit  _ of a secret. Mickey Milkovich and Ian Gallagher were a couple. Just out in the world being boyfriends.

To say that Ian was practically  _ vibrating _ with anticipation by the time he climbed out of the Uber was an understatement. The hotel was nice as fuck, this huge building with way too many lights highlighting the architecture, floors so shiny his shoes squeaked. 

He had to sweet talk the receptionist, and lie a little to find out Mickey’s room number. “I’m surprising my husband,” he told her with one of his best dreamy smiles. He told her they were recently married and this was Mickey’s first business trip after the wedding so Ian wanted to surprise him because  _ newlyweds _ —blah blah blah and all that gushy shit. 

She ate it up. Obviously.

He even pulled his phone out to show her a picture Ian had taken of the both of them from just before Mickey left. Heads tilted together, Mickey ready to roll his eyes and Ian looking like the goddamn chump he is. It was actually really  _ really _ cute, and the receptionist reacted accordingly. 

Why he was a bundle of nervous energy standing in front of Mickey’s door, he didn’t know. They’d been officially dating, in a relationship, for over a month now —not including the hooking up before that point. He was just excited. Mickey had been working so much recently, working so hard, getting stressed the fuck out about stuff and when he’d asked Ian to come with him and Ian unfortunately could not at the time, his face fell so fast, Ian wanted to curl up and die.

He knocked, staying away from the peep-hole and deepening his voice, “Room service!”

It took a minute, but then he heard Mickey’s voice on the other side of the door, “Try again asshole, I didn’t order room service. So who the fuck is it?”

Ian rolled his eyes, hand covering his face as he stood off to the side, out of view. He didn’t know who was more ridiculous at the moment, him for claiming room service or Mickey for simply reacting the way he does. So he stepped into the view of the peep-hole with a sigh and a shrug (and a shitty little grin).

“Holy shit,” he heard Mickey’s voice again, heard the lock turning in the door. “Holy shit,” Mickey breathed softer this time when he got the door open, a huge as fuck smile spread across his face.

Ian grabbed onto Mickey tight, wrapping his arms around the other man, breathing him in. “Hey baby,” he whispered into Mickey’s neck, kissing him soft there.

“Holy shit,” Mickey whispered back, like those were the only two words he was capable of pronouncing at the moment. 

Okay so it had only been five days since they’d last seen each other, but this was Ian’s  _ goddamn _ romcom moment. Fuck off.

“C’mere,” Mickey pulled him into the room, grabbing the duffle out of his hand, throwing it to the side. The door closed with a soft click. The television hummed low in the background, but Ian didn’t see any of the room, all his focus was on his boyfriend. “Can’t believe you did this for me,” he whispered. 

He’d do anything.

God, Mickey kissed him so good. Ian groaned into it, soft full lips pressing against his in the best way, hands holding his face. Mickey kissed him  _ so _ good. Tasted so good. The brunette was claiming in his kiss; kissed Ian deep like he didn’t know any other way.

“Get this shit off,” Mickey’s voice was full of breath as he pulled at Ian’s shirt, tugging it up and off.

Ian laughed, Mickey did too. They undressed each other in between kisses and running hands over each other. Mickey ran his hands up Ian’s abdomen, up his chest, to his shoulders before he pulled him in for another. Ian held Mickey by his back, pressing him against the wall by the bed, his fingers landed in the back of Mickey’s hair, scratching at his scalp. Mickey moaned into Ian’s mouth and Ian swallowed it whole.

Now just in their boxers, Ian couldn’t get close enough. He loved that skin-against-skin feel with his boyfriend. Mickey was soft but solid. And warm. Fuck, he was so warm, felt so good.

They fell to the bed, Ian covering and making Mickey squirm when he paid attention to that little spot behind his ear with his lips and tongue. Mickey wrapped his legs around Ian’s hips tight, pulling him down. They moved beautifully together. Felt even better.

“Got tired of waiting for you to get back,” Ian breathed against Mickey’s skin, still taking care of that spot, tasting him. “Had to see you.”

Mickey shuddered, moving under Ian in a way that had both of their eyes fluttering. “Thank you,” he gasped and Ian breathed a soft laugh at his boyfriends politeness. “Fuck, that’s good.”

Ian grinned, giving that spot one last suck before trailing his mouth down Mickey’s neck. “Love how you taste,” he told him.

With fingers tugging at his hair, Ian kept working his way down. He dragged his lips and tongue down Mickey’s collarbone, scraping gently with his teeth, earning a soft whine. But it was nothing compared to when he lapped at one of Mickey’s nipples, tasting and sucking. 

Ian reached for the other nipple while he was working on the first, fingers gently pinching, gently twisting until the brunette arched under him, until tugging fingers in his hair became a tight fist. He growled against Mickey’s skin, sucking harder.

“Keep doin’ that,” Mickey slurred. His hips rocked up, chasing friction while Ian did the same. Felt so goddamn good rocking against each other, feeling each other’s hardness. But then again, Ian was always down for some frantic dry-humping. 

He moved his mouth to the other nipple, now free to trail his hand down Mickey’s stomach then between them to his boyfriend’s signature plaid boxers (Ian was on a side mission to get Mickey into boxer-briefs because honestly, both his ass and thighs deserved better). He didn’t snake inside, not yet, stroking his achingly hard dick through the flimsy fabric while he bit down on Mickey’s already hard and tender nipple.

He hadn’t planned on making Mickey come just like this until that very moment, when Mickey’s breath became so fucked-out, so ragged with want it sounded like he just sprinted five miles. “Ian, I can’t —m’fuck m’gonna… Ian, I’m…”

Catching Mickey off guard reaped wonderful rewards. Ian made a mental note. 

Ian breathed against Mickey, sucking at his nipple soft, he hummed an affirmative.  _ It’s okay, go ahead _ . He stroked at his boyfriend still, pressing a little more, cupping his balls through the boxers, getting him worked up into a frenzy under him. He hummed another affirmative.

Mickey’s tight grip in his hair wasn’t letting up. His hips rocked up against Ian’s hand, breath wild and desperate, “M’gonna…”

A third time Ian hummed. He wanted it. Wanted to make Mickey come in his fucking boxers, wanted to hear him lose his goddamn mind, being surprised like this and immediately ravaged. Ian wanted him shaking and sweat-damped with little fingerprint and suck marks all over his pale skin until the morning. 

“Ian,” Mickey panted, pulling on his hair, pulling him up. “C’mere.”

Following Mickey’s lead, he kissed his boyfriend, pushing his tongue into his mouth, continuing to work his hand. Almost there. Mickey’s moan into his mouth sounded like it was torn from his throat.  _ Almost _ . Ian was so hard, pressing against Mickey’s hip. Fucking loved this.

Ian took a breath, pressing his forehead against Mickey’s, “Look at me.”

Mickey opened those baby blues, brows twisted up, mouth hanging open. He was all breath and little noises, getting closer and closer. “I’m…”

“That’s it,” Ian breathed, moving slightly away so he could get the full effect when it happened. “Come for me, Mickey. You look so good. Fucking perfect.” 

“Fuck!” Mickey drew the word out when it hit him, his hips stuttering against Ian’s hand. Ian watched him fall apart, it was probably one of his favorite sights in the whole world. The way those blue eyes would go all wide before they rolled back, they way his eyebrows creased.

Ian cut Mickey off with a kiss, grunting heavy with want when he felt that wet spot forming under his hand. His boyfriend shook under him, clung to him, wrapping his arms around Ian after letting go of his hair.

The kiss turned soft, Ian bringing both arms to slide under the other man, wrapping himself around him. He kissed Mickey slow, kissed him through the little jolts and shudders of aftershocks —it was one of those ones that hit Mickey real hard, hit his whole fucking body. Ian always kissed him soft after that.

After a few long quiet moments, Ian hummed and rolled to the side to lay next to his boyfriend. Mickey followed, rolling onto his side to face him, pressing close while their legs slotted together. 

“Catch you off guard?” Ian grinned through his question.

“Yeah,” Mickey grinned back then leaned over to press a single kiss to the corner of Ian’s mouth. His fingers light as they traveled down his chest. “Yeah you surprised the fuck outta me.”

“Good,” Ian chuckled. He admitted, “I know it's only been a few days but…I missed you.”

“Me too,” Mickey sounded sated and happy, and that’s all Ian ever wanted. He dipped his head to kiss Ian’s collarbone, “Too bad you missed the conference.”

Ian bit his bottom lip to keep himself in check, mostly because he knew Mickey was well aware of how lost and bored Ian would’ve been. Mickey was just being a shit. “Yeah, fucking sucks…maybe next time though.”

Mickey snorted a laugh; Ian did too. “Glad you’re here. Guess I should thank you,” he added, cupping Ian through his boxers, effectively setting them back on track.

Then his boyfriend climbed fully on top of him, and Ian couldn’t bite back the moan, watching. Mickey still had his come stained boxers on, not giving a fuck. Ian kind of liked it, liked that Mickey wanted him  _ that _ bad. 

He watched Mickey’s hands dragging down his abdomen, scooting down further to sit on his thighs, “Brought something for me, huh?”

“I did,” Ian chuckled; he couldn’t keep his eyes off of Mickey’s hands on him, trailing further down past his belly button, tattooed fingers hooking the band of his boxers. “S’all yours.”

Mickey just quirked an eyebrow at him when Ian finally looked back up. He smirked before fully pulling Ian’s boxers off, revealing how fucking turned on he still was. Ian exhaled long, eyes fixated back on Mickey’s hands. 

“Fuck,” Mickey breathed, wrapping a hand around Ian’s dick. He glanced back up at Ian, “Hands behind your head ‘til I say.”

“Yes,  _ sir _ ,” Ian situated himself, big goofy smile on his face. He licked his lips, watching the brunette lean down and spit right on the head of his cock, hand wrapping around him there and stroking down. His eyes rolled, hands clenching behind his head.

“So fucking hard for me, Red,” Mickey breathed. He let go and Ian whined but watched the other man move further down, getting between Ian’s legs, spreading them apart so he could kneel between. Again, he bent down to spit, slicking Ian further.

Ian’s eyes rolled again as he grunted, legs moving from not knowing if he wanted to plant his feet on the mattress or what. He felt Mickey’s touch radiate through his body, he loved the sight of Mickey’s hand wrapped around him,  _ really _ fucking loved that. 

He took a couple deep breaths as Mickey moved again, moved until he had those beautiful full lips wrapping around the tip of his dick. Blue eyes staring up at him, Mickey took him deep and slow at first, all hot and wet inside of his tight mouth, pushing against the back of his throat.

“Damn, baby,” Ian’s toes curled, hands clenching tight behind his head again. He wanted to touch Mickey, and had half a mind to just reach for him anyways. 

Mickey moaned soft around him, one hand wrapped around the base of Ian’s dick. He looked so good, Ian got caught up in it. The way Mickey’s eyes would look up at him, then flutter closed as he hummed and moaned around him. 

His boyfriend loves sucking cock, it gets him going and Mickey lets himself let go and just takes what he fucking wants, how he wants it. And besides the obvious fact of it feeling really fucking good when his dick is being sucked,  _ that _ gets Ian going. 

“Wanna touch you,” Ian whispered, his hands moving, searching until they curled around the top of the headboard. “Fuck, love watching you —should see how fucking good you look with my cock in your mouth, baby.”

Mickey took him deep again, swallowing him down with another moan. Ian gripped the headboard until his knuckles ached. Over and over Mickey chased his hand with his mouth down Ian’s cock, faster, harder. That fucking sound. That sick, wet slurp, the sound and feel of Mickey pulling off to gasp for air after taking him deep. 

He wasn’t going to last long. His leg was trembling, hips rocking up, every muscle in his body tense trying to get himself together. Then Mickey gave his mouth a break, taking over with only his hand. His lips were fucking gorgeous like that, all wet and shiny, all pink and tender looking. 

Mickey was a little raspy on the edges, sinner grin growing wide. “Close, huh?”

Ian nodded, it’s all he could do. Everything was static, he felt like he was being pulled in every direction, felt like his skin was going to catch fire. He wanted to touch Mickey, wanted to feel his hair between his fingers, wanted to drag the brunette up to his mouth to kiss.

“Gonna make me hard again, sounding like that,” Mickey ran his tongue over his bottom lip. 

“Wanna touch you,” Ian again whispered, watching his boyfriend stick his tongue out and lick a fat stripe up the underside of his shaft. “Fucking  _ christ _ Mickey, please…”

“You keep asking instead of waiting,” Mickey smirked before he grabbed Ian’s hips with both hands, giving him fast and hard tug down the bed until Ian was flat on his back. 

While he still had a bit of clarity, Ian allowed himself a moment to prop himself up on his elbows and glare down at his still smirking boyfriend —who was dragging his hands down Ian’s thighs. “I thought you were thanking me?”

Mickey chuckled, eyes rolling while his hands hooked behind Ian’s knees, pulling up. As soon as that happened, Ian fell back down against the mattress, forgetting his momentary pouting. Mickey was pushing his legs up towards his chest until Ian took over, holding behind his knees. 

“Gonna thank you a few times, Red,” Mickey let a bead of spit drip from his mouth onto his perineum, then again. Ian shivered. “ _ Shoulda _ tied your impatient ass up,” Ian’s body buzzed and went white hot at the thought, hoping that was somewhere in his future because… _ yes _ . 

Ian didn’t have the chance to react beyond a whimper, Mickey didn’t give him a chance. His hand was again wrapping around Ian’s cock, as he was leaning down to swirl that magic fucking tongue over Ian’s sac, down his perineum to his hole. 

Ian gasped, fingers biting into the backs of his knees, “Oh god —fuckfuckfuck, Mick.”

Mickey groaned rough against him, tongue working while his hand moved tight long strokes. Whatever the human equivalent to glitching was, Ian was experiencing that. Breath caught in his throat, hands like a vice around the back of his knees, all he could fucking do was  _ feel _ . It washed over him in deep waves, crashing every time Mickey hummed.

He wasn’t going to last long at all. All that smugness from getting his boyfriend to fall apart quickly shattered. Should’ve known though. Mickey never failed to drive him goddamn wild.

Faintly, Ian breathed, “Gonna come, holy  _ fuck _ Mick.”

Showing he knew Ian wasn’t fucking around anymore, Mickey moved fluidly, tracing his tongue quickly up Ian’s perineum, up up up. Ian let his legs go, ready to bury both hands into dark hair as soon as Mickey swallowed him down.

Ian fisted Mickey’s hair with both hands, mouth hanging open as he watched his boyfriend fucking  _ own _ his cock with his mouth, tattooed hands gripping and searching his hips and thighs. He bucked up into Mickey, fucking up into his mouth while he still had the mind and energy to do so.

He felt Mickey’s thumb simply press against his hole, small tight circles around his sensitive nerves. Ian’s eyes fully rolled back.

It hit fast and hard while Mickey pulled him over and over through it. Ian’s whole body flushed, electricity zipping up his spine. He stuttered nonsense as he came, chest heaving with every breath. Mickey was hungry about it even as he slowed, lips wrapped so fucking pretty. Fuck, Ian loved that.

Ian watched it all, and Mickey didn’t take his eyes away either. He pulled Mickey’s head back, hissing soft as his sensitive cock slipped from that warmth. Mickey licked his lips, eyes heavy and sated before he let Ian drag him up his body.

Both of them moaned as Ian caught Mickey’s tender lips in a hard kiss. He kept pulling on Mickey until he had the brunette above him, sliding his hands down to Mickey’s hips, gripping tight. The taste of himself on Mickey’s tongue, like always, had his skin shuddering in want, had him feeling all sorts of things.

“Gimme ten minutes,” Ian gasped for air, breaking the kiss. 

Mickey looked down at him, looking like someone smacked him in the mouth, “M’not letting you outta this room ‘til we leave.”

Ian chuckled, letting his hands wander Mickey’s thighs. He loved how strong his legs were, how fucking solid and good they felt wrapped around his waist. Ian reached for the band of Mickey’s boxers, tugging on them. Mickey had to climb off to undress completely before burying under the covers with Ian.

“C’mere,” Ian whispered, tugging on his boyfriend. Skin to skin, chest to chest, they wrapped up in each other. 

“Still can’t fucking believe you flew out for me,” Mickey murmured. 

Ian kissed Mickey soft, holding the side of his face. He’d fly anywhere for this man. Drive if he had to, fucking  _ walk _ if he was missing him that much. Ian wanted to be with Mickey all the time, just wanted him around. It seemed like Mickey felt that way too. Ian’s not sure he’s ever had that. He doesn’t ever want to let it go though, he doesn’t ever want to let Mickey go. 

As they laid there together, wrapped up and kissing soft, touching soft, Ian pulled the blanket up to cover them. He felt so much for Mickey, it was hard to keep it to himself, it was hard to keep his mouth shut because he knew that even though Mickey was right there with him, he probably wasn’t ready to hear it out loud.

So Ian said it with his body, his hands, his eyes. He knew Mickey understood in the way the brunette would flush, in the way he would nod his head and give Ian the softest eyes in the fucking world before sealing the moment with gentle hands and an even gentler press of a kiss. Sometimes Ian would be fucking slow into Mickey, holding his hands against he mattress, staring down into baby blues, and Mickey would say his name and his voice would be so thick with emotion, so soft… 

They’d silently said those three words to each other for  _ weeks _ , but it was getting harder and harder for Ian to keep those words rested on the tip of his tongue. 

* * *

Ian’s watching tattooed fingers lace with his freckled ones, watching Mickey’s thumb brush over the back of his hand. He loves Mickey’s hands. Loves that faint birthmark. He even loves the shitty faded ink spelling out a threat. Mickey builds amazing, important things with his hands, and Ian might love that most of all.

Last time he had glanced over at the clock it had been coming up on one in the morning, but that was a while ago. Ian sighed soft, happy. Fuck, he was happy, and he’d been happy for a while now —for longer than he’d ever been before. Felt like his chest wanted to burst, felt like a dream sometimes, he was so… _ happy _ . 

Say a word over and over, obsess on that word for too long, and it starts to look malformed, starts to sound unnatural rolling off of your tongue. But he was happy.

However, there was this thorn in his side he couldn’t shake, under the bliss. Like part of him  _ wanted _ to worry,  _ wanted _ to question himself. His mind. Sometimes things get muddy when he feels a lot  _ —how much is too much? _ And sometimes when he’s with Mickey he’s so fucking  _ full _ , he scares himself. Then when he’s away from Mickey, he’s just…he’s Ian. And that was perfectly fine, just being Ian. But everything was  _ better _ when he was with Mickey. He missed Mickey when they weren’t together. He wanted to be with him all the time.

Before he came to surprise his boyfriend, he’d had a check-in with his therapist. He doesn’t go to therapy every week like he used to, doesn’t need it like he used to (shit, there had been a point where he went twice a week). He went because sometimes he gets in his head, overthinks, overanalyzes (like now). 

It’s hard to tell what’s normal and what needs immediate attention when he feels  _ a lot _ . Like he could  _ just _ be legitimately happy. Ian could break it down logically, but that shit doesn’t always fly when it comes to his head —he’d been betrayed by his own mind (and mother) too many times, he’d lost trust in himself.

_ Really _ , like his therapist said…he could just be in love, like  _ actual _ love, with someone he’s compatible and comfortable with on  _ many _ levels. Though for his sake (and given his history) she’s always erring on the side of caution, and suggested Ian take a beat to think about starting regular sessions again  _ if he felt he wanted or needed to do that _ . She always gave him the option —if he wants. Because it has to be his choice at this point, his decision. It  _ has _ to be. 

“Do I seem off?” Ian broke the silence.

Mickey turned to look up at him, brows creased slightly, “Off?”

Ian nodded, “Yeah, like…,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I dunno, too much?”

“You’re gonna have to give me a little more here,” Mickey replied. “Too much what?”

Ian cleared his throat. He pushed through the discomfort because it was important. “Too much energy, unfocused, obsessive, that kind of shit. I just…do I seem like I’m going manic?”

Mickey slowly sat up so he could look at Ian properly, taking away his body’s warmth for a moment. He paused before he spoke, and that almost had Ian panicking. “Not to me, you don’t. I think you should ask your brother though, he would know better than I would. D’you feel like you are?”

“I don’t think so, but it’s hard to tell sometimes,” Ian admitted. He didn’t want to freak Lip out if he didn’t have to, didn’t want his big brother going all fucking  _ gather the Gallaghers _ time. 

The brunette hummed soft in thought before reaching over to the nightstand to grab his phone. Ian almost asked who he was texting when Mickey was typing away, but then, “Are you sleeping like normal?”

Ian frowned, “I mean, I’ve been working a lot but I sleep fine. So, yeah sure.”

“Okay. You been spending a lot of money on shit you don’t need —or are you going overkill on some random new hobby or something —that I don’t know about?”

“No,” Ian answered carefully. Mickey was still looking down at his phone. 

“Okay. Have you been doing all the shit you need at work?”

Ian huffed, “Yes, I’ve been—,” he cut himself off, realizing what his boyfriend was doing, what he was reading on his phone. Something in him softened at that. Like a part of his worry quieted answering Mickey’s questions. Mickey was putting in an effort. In  _ this _ . In  _ him _ . It really shouldn’t surprise Ian, Mickey was  _ like that _ at his core. Didn’t take away from the fact that no one Ian has ever dated has ever  _ helped _ him. “Yes, I’ve been working fine, doing everything I’m supposed to.”

Mickey nodded, “Okay. Do you feel like you’re the baddest motherfucker in the world?”

“No more than usual,” Ian grinned. He felt his eyes sting. He swallowed it down. 

Also, hearing these kinds of questions asked in the only way Mickey could ask them made it easier somehow. Ian didn’t feel like he was being interrogated —he didn’t feel like he was in trouble.

Mickey grinned down at his phone. “A’ight, tough guy. And you haven’t been a prick about anything, at least around me, no more than usual…haven’t been like Mr. fucking Rogers either, thank  _ christ _ .”

Ian grinned, “No, no Mr. Rogers.”

“You getting pissed off at shit a lot?”

Ian shrugged, repeating himself from before, “No more than usual.”

“A’ight. And this —hm, you’re always fucking thinking, so that’s kinda your default,” Mickey murmured, scrolling and shaking his head.

True. He had to know though, “Hypersexual.”

Mickey looked up finally with a frown, “Huh?”

“It’s one of my…red flags,” Ian said, face warming because as comfortable as he was with sex, he was still learning how to deal with  _ that _ part of his mania and how he felt about himself because of it. That particular memory box was a lot to unpack. “Would you say I’ve been hypersexual?”

Mickey put his phone back on the nightstand, “Ian…no, I wouldn’t say you’ve been hypersexual. Listen, we fuck  _ good _ together. Right from the start, we just…you know, we’re like that.” Mickey paused, eyes not leaving Ian before he continued with a soft chuckle, “Shit man, if you’re hypersexual right now then I dunno what the fuck that makes me.”

Ian breathed a laugh at that. “I know,” he whispered, scratching at his neck. “I just…I don’t want to be  _ like that _ ever again.”

He doesn’t ever want to hurt Mickey. He doesn’t ever want to get lost in the high of it all and wake up one day in someone else’s bed when he should be waking up next to Mickey. He doesn’t want to drive Mickey away with that side of him either, doesn’t want to be too much, too demanding, too insatiable. 

He’s overthinking. He’s overthinking  _ everything _ , he knows this. His therapist was right. She normally is. Ian can’t even remember the last time he had a  _ serious _ manic episode while he was medicated. It’s hard to get out of his own head though. It’s hard to allow himself to let go sometimes. 

It probably came down to him not wanting to be a repeat of his mother. She hurt so many people  _ —continues _ to hurt so many people, even when she’s leveled out. Ian loves her so fucking much, but… 

“You cheating on me —you fucking around?”

“No,” Ian’s eyes went wide as he gasped, heart lodging itself in his throat. “No, Mickey I swear I’m not—”

“Ay, m’sorry —I know you’re not,” Mickey reached for his hand. “I know you’re not.”

Ian sniffed, nodded, his fingers curling into the spaces between the brunette’s. His heart dislodged. The thought of hurting Mickey like that made him sick, made him hate himself even though there was no reason.

“I haven’t seen you manic so I don’t know what that’s like…but Ian, you’re the same fucking guy you’ve been since I met you. If I was worried I’d tell you, I promise. I wouldn’t fuck around with your head about this shit.”

Ian nodded, blinking a few times, “Thank you.”

“Ay,” Mickey made his way over to Ian, hands framing his face, climbing into his lap. Mickey kissed him once, kissed him soft. “You know I got your back, right?”

He nodded again, sniffing. There was too much swimming in his chest to lean into how good that felt, hearing Mickey say those words and knowing without a doubt in his mind that they were true. It felt so fucking good. No one Ian’s ever been with gave a genuine  _ fuck _ about all of this, not really. Ian can’t even count how many times a boyfriend had tried to blame any upswing of emotion or energy on him “having an episode” when he was really just… _ feeling _ .

Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey, “I saw my doctor before I flew out.”

“What’d she say?”

Well. Ian continued to shove himself directly into corners, didn’t he? “Uh, she said if I wanted to start therapy again, I could.”

“Mmhm,” Mickey nodded, his fingers playing at the back of Ian’s hair. Felt good.

Ian knew his face hid nothing. Especially around Mickey. So he knew Mickey saw it all over, there was more Ian didn’t want to say. He also knew that Mickey wouldn’t pull the  _ tell me something _ card, not with this. Ian kind of wished he would. So he looked Mickey in the eye, silently asking him to clear a path for him to say this, to be receptive to it.

Softly, so fucking gently like the words were made of glass, Mickey said, “You can tell me.”

“She said,” Ian swallowed hard. Gay and relentless, he weakly reminded himself (he needed that on a shirt, honestly). But now he couldn’t look anywhere but Mickey’s shoulder, “She said I could…she said I could be in love. Like  _ real _ , not what I thought it was before. That wasn’t…”

A silent pause. Then Mickey slid his hands back to where they were before, framing Ian’s face, tilting his head to look into baby blues again. Then he kissed him again, even sweeter than the last time, kissed him sweet and sure. He told him, “I think you should listen to her. Flying to this fuckass city just to see my dumb face backs that up.”

“Your face isn’t dumb,” Ian could’ve said literally anything else. 

Slowly, Mickey grinned, letting his hands slowly fall between them to rest, “I wanna tell you something. Should’ve a while ago.”

Ian’s heart, his stomach, his lungs, he swore even his fucking  _ liver _ dropped. He couldn’t even get any words for a response out, just sat there with his arms around his boyfriend.

“I love you,” Mickey said —more like stated like it was a fact. Didn’t even blink. He nodded though, pink tongue slipping out to wet his lips, took a deep breath after it was said. 

He wasn’t dreaming. This was real.

“I love you,” Ian breathed.

Nodding, Mickey winked at him, “Yeah, I uh…figured that out a couple weeks ago. You talk in your sleep sometimes.”

Ian didn’t know if he wanted to sink into the earth or shake his boyfriend into unconsciousness, “ _ Please _ tell me you’re fucking with me.”

Unfortunately Mickey shook his head, his stupid eyebrows climbing up his stupid forehead, “I am not.”

“Oh my god,” Ian muttered under his breath. He covered his face with his hands, unable to hide anywhere else. “What…the fuck. What happened—what did I…? Oh my god.”

Mickey chuckled, climbing off of Ian’s lap, tugging on him to lay down with him. “Lay over here—”

“I don’t need a whole fucking  _ demonstration _ of how embarrassing I am, Mick,” Ian groaned. It was bad enough he was talking in his fucking sleep. “C’mon.” Though he moved where Mickey directed him to. He could whine all he wanted, even Ian couldn’t lie to himself that he wasn’t curious.

“Shut your mouth and close your eyes, asshole,” Mickey directed. Ian did, sighing. Mickey settled up behind him, pressing close. His voice was quiet as he spoke, breath on the back of Ian’s neck, “I’m you, okay. I’m laying there trying to fall asleep and you pull me back like this, real close, but you’re still dead to the fucking world.”

Ian grinned to himself as Mickey pulled back on him, even though there was no way he could get closer than he already was. He had to crack a joke or else he’d spontaneously combust from a multitude of things, “What, did you record every detail in your diary?”

Mickey grunted, nipping at Ian’s ear and making him squirm, “Shut the fuck up. You pulled me back,” his arm slipped tighter around Ian’s middle, lips brushing the back of his neck; Ian shivered. “You said, ‘ _ I love you baby, I love you so much’, _ ” he whispered. Ian felt it in his bones. “You’re the best thing that ever fucking happened to me.”

Ian turned to face Mickey, not knowing what to say.

“You didn’t say that last part though,” the brunette added softly.

Ian moved closer and closer. He moved until he was settled between his boyfriends legs, like he was shielding him from the world, hoarding him all to himself. They didn’t say anything for a moment. Ian just looked down at Mickey’s face. His beautiful face with his beautiful freckles and beautiful  _ everything _ . 

Ian’s not sure he’s ever been  _ close _ to being the best thing that’s happened to anyone ever. In fact, he’s fairly sure there’s a few men from his past that would say quite the opposite, actually. And he’d be hard-pressed to argue with them.

He kissed Mickey. Mickey kissed him back. 


	5. Five

“So this is your official big-boy desk, huh?”

Ian looked up from his computer, smile already spreading over his face. Mickey stood there with his hands shoved into his pockets, a perfect centerpiece amidst the chaos of the bullpen behind him. Ian loved when his boyfriend surprised him at work. It was always a risk because they both stayed fairly busy and sometimes couldn’t break away from their projects, but no matter what, it was a nice little treat. 

“This is my official big boy desk,” Ian nodded. To be fair, it was not much bigger than his previous desk, but that’s not the point. They’d already done the celebrating over Ian’s promotion a couple weeks ago, but this was the first time Mickey has popped over since then. 

Mickey’s baby blues gave him a once over in that way he did and Ian warmed from that, “Looks good on ya, Red.”

“What’re you doing here?” Ian couldn’t stop smiling, glancing down at his watch. “You wanna go to lunch or...?”

Mickey nodded, his eyes scanning around them like he always did. It was a different kind of environment than the brunette was used to, and Ian would be lying if he said he didn’t love seeing the tables turned. Mickey had his own organized chaos in his little office, but the bullpen was a whole other animal entirely. 

“Yeah, you good to take off? I got an hour, so I can wait a minute…”

Ian surveyed his messy desk, glancing up at Mickey doing the same. This shit wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, and it was about that time anyway, “Yeah, I can go now.”

Whenever Mickey came to Ian’s work, they went to this little sandwich shop across the street. The booths were vinyl and the paper napkins were those shitty thin brown kind, but they made a mean turkey and bacon club that made Ian’s eyes roll every time he bit into it. 

Lunchtime was always busy and this time was no different. But thankfully they managed to nab a booth, thanks to Mickey being quick on his feet, sliding into the last available spot before another couple got there first. Mickey gave them an apologetic yet shitty little grin. Ian wouldn’t ever  _ not _ be charmed by that grin. 

The last several months have been a fucking dream. Not always easy, because life is life and humans are humans, but still a fucking  _ dream _ . Ian’s never had what he has with Mickey before. He’s never had a healthy mature relationship, he’s never been sure that who he is with genuinely gives a fuck about him. Mickey  _ genuinely _ gives a fuck about Ian. 

“So, I got news,” Mickey said, barely finishing the bite of sandwich he was chewing. 

Ian raised his brows at that, “About what?”

After he finally finished his bite, Mickey wiped his mouth with one of those thinner-than-tissue napkins and smirked at Ian, “Got an appointment this Saturday to look at an apartment. It’s real nice. I think you’ll like it.”

Ian frowned, “I didn’t know you were moving.” He liked Mickey’s place.

Mickey quirked his brows upwards, shoulders shrugging, “It was good for a while but… not gonna be enough space.”

Not enough space? Ian continued to frown, “Are you planning on taking up  _ hoarding _ ?”

“No,” Mickey rolled his eyes while he laughed. “What I was planning was asking my boyfriend if he wanted to go halfsies on this new place for a while. If he liked it.”

A full ten seconds ticked by. 

Ian was that boyfriend. 

His whole face felt like it caught fire, half a nibbled on turkey bacon sandwich left on the plate in front of him. “You’re such a dick,” he whispered. “Is  _ this _ how you’re asking me to move in with you?”

Mickey shook his head, thumbing at the side of his nose. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. He sniffed for no reason. It was a move Ian knew well, but it was a move that Mickey hadn’t done in a while. 

“M’asking if you wanna get a new place  _ with _ me,” Mickey clarified. “Sign a lease, all that shit.”

Signing a lease. Together. Ian sat back, warm all over and still grinning like a goddamn idiot because he loved his fucking boyfriend so much. He loved him  _ so _ much. Why was this so goddamn romantic? 

“You’re really ready to sign a legally binding document with me?” Ian chanced a smirk. 

Mickey shrugged, his thumb coming back up to brush at his nose. “Figured if you were gonna dip out of this, you’d’a done it by now.”

Ian rolled his eyes but his smile didn’t waver. Like he could  _ ever _ walk away from Mickey Milkovich. 

* * *

There were windows everywhere, with panes painted black back in the nineties. Wood floors creaked in a whisper when you walked, a couple nicks and scratches. The back wall of the kitchen was old brick, a few of the pieces displaced in the mortar to the point where you could pop them out of the wall entirely. You could see the tiniest sliver of the lake from the master bedroom, between stacked buildings. 

It was perfect. Mickey knew it was perfect, knew the whole vibe would appeal to the dramatic writer's soul in Ian and make him never want to leave the moment he stepped through the front door. That and the landlord had recently upgraded the kitchen and bathrooms after the previous tenant had left. So.  _ Yeah _ . It was perfect.

It was their first night in the new place, completely bare until the following day. They bought a brand new mattress, had it resting in the center of their room. No actual bed yet, that would come tomorrow. There was a half empty pizza box about a yard away from the mattress, and half of a six pack left next to that as well. Mickey had finished the last of Ian’s first beer for him, Ian allowed himself half of one in the name of celebrating. The weed smell in the air would clear out soon enough, but right now it hung sweetly above them.

Ian closed his eyes, let them flutter shut as he took Mickey into his mouth slow, dull fingernails scratched at his scalp before his hair was pulled at with need. He loved that. Ian groaned low, his slicked fingers tracing around Mickey’s hole, pressing gently with his middle digit. His boyfriend fit perfectly and felt so good inside his mouth, with his strong thighs tensing and trembling. Ian groaned again.

His name on Mickey’s lips was breathy and desperate. Ian pushed more inside, his mouth slowly working off of his boyfriend’s dick when he felt a quick couple of tugs in his hair. Ian worked his finger slow as he moved up Mickey’s body, his mouth searching like it had a mind of its own. 

He was gentle with Mickey, his lips and tongue teasing one nipple before going to the other. The brunette groaned under him, hips rocking against his hand. Ian lifted, catching Mickey’s lips with his own while he eased his finger from Mickey. He slid his tongue into his boyfriend's mouth, sighing soft when his kiss was returned with two arms wrapping around his neck, pulling tight.

Blindly, Ian reached for the bottle of lube; he slicked the brunette and himself. He kept kissing Mickey, breathing him in, not close enough —never close enough. Mickey wrapped his legs around Ian’s hips when the time came.

Ian pressed his face in the crook of Mickey’s neck, tasting his skin there. Salt and warmth on his tongue while he buried himself to the hilt. Mickey’s hands were grabbing at his hair. His chest moved between them as he swallowed heavy breaths.

“Ian,” Mickey gasped. Ian scraped his teeth behind Mickey’s ear, slowly rocking his hips deep. “Fuck —Ian.”

Wedging an arm under his boyfriend, pulling him up tight, Ian went to town on the side of Mickey’s neck. Tongue and lips and teeth while he kept rocking deeply into him, giving Mickey everything he could, like he knew the brunette loved. Mickey loved being filled to the fucking brim by Ian, loved being covered and weighed down like this.

Ian pressed his mouth against Mickey’s ear, breath hot as he softly told him, “I love you.”

Mickey took him by the back of the hair, tugging him where he needed to be so he could kiss him hard. Ian moaned into his mouth, skin tingling from head to toe. He broke off the kiss, coming up for air and so he could look down at the man under him. 

Flushed and wanting, Mickey gnawed at his bottom lip. The moonlight danced over his pale skin, made his eyes even prettier than they already were. And the way Mickey looked up at him…Ian wanted this forever, wanted this man forever. 

He smiled slowly, dipping down to drop a single kiss on Mickey’s full lips.

It was beautiful. 

And in that apartment was just the beginning of an equally beautiful life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


End file.
